


You, Me, and the 'Wealth

by katrinajg



Series: That Kid from Vault 101 [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: 35k slow burn, Baseball, Deacon is the Lone Wanderer, Diamond City Votes 2286, Elections, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Political Alliances, Radiation Storms, Slow Build, chapter 3 is post-Fallout 4, pre-Fallout 4, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-02 19:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 63,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10225397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katrinajg/pseuds/katrinajg
Summary: This is where I'm posting all the short stories that are part of my 'Deacon is the Lone Wanderer' universe. If you haven't read the first story in this series,Insert Something Shakespearean Here, these short stories won't make any sense.Current fic:A Diamond in the RoughTumblr prompt/fic request. Deacon/MacCready for the prompt: #56) things you said in the spur of the moment.





	1. Let's Perk Up Diamond City. Vote Ellie Perkins!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's election time in Diamond City.

October 2286

Ellie has already been awake for an hour when she hears Nick shift from reading Deacon’s copy of _War and Peace_ to reading case files at his desk. She checks her brass pocket watch on the bedside stand, though she already knows what time it is: seven a.m. That’s been Nick’s routine as long as she’s known him (to lie in bed and read from midnight to seven and then ‘wake’ and move into the office). Idly, she touches the engraving on the inside of the watch’s lid: _To E. All my love, R._ It’s been a calming mechanism ever since she was a girl and had first scrounged the watch out of a pile of rubble on the outskirts of Goodneighbour. 

Ellie used to imagine that she was E and the mysterious R would one day come and steal her away from her life in that shitty town. What really happened was that she pulled herself out of Goodneighbour’s gutters, and after a horrible run in with the Triggermen, helped Nick locate the source of their tainted Jet that was killing people left and right. Ellie never did meet anyone with the initial R that lived up to those day-dream standards, and then she met Tom and didn’t matter. Who needed R, anyways? 

Of course, she didn’t have either now. 

She closes the lid slowly, muffling the sound of the _click_ in the comforter, leaving her hand clasped loosely around it as she goes back to staring at the dark ceiling. There’s only week left until the mayoral elections, seven days in which to finish her campaign strong. It’s been three months of handshakes and informal chats and small public gatherings and in all that time none of it really felt real. The election was so far off then that it felt as if it would never arrive, but here she is, one day away from their first and only debate and well and truly freaking out about the whole thing.

Piper had been helping her prep for the last five days, polishing her responses to likely questions and making Ellie respond to random ones that Piper makes up on the spot about the weirdest stuff as she tries to get Ellie’s speech to sound like a clean and refined version of herself. Ellie needs to seem mayoral and like she already has the job in order to convince the still skeptical Upperstanders of her suitability.

“I know that us Lowerfielders like to rag on those Upperstander bastards and talk tough about giving them a kick in the ass, but when it comes down to it, most of it is just that: _talk,_ ” Piper told her when they started prepping. “They’ll vote the way the Upperstanders vote because people are brahmin and don’t want to upset the status quo without good reason. We’ve got to seem like a gentle revolution even if all we really want to do is tear it all down.”

The debate is weighing heavily on her mind, making it harder to sleep the closer and closer the day comes. Ellie wants the job, she wants the responsibility, and she wants to make Diamond City a better place, but there’s this lingering doubt that she’s going to mess up at a critical moment and miss her chance. Then there’s McDonough to worry about. All along he hadn’t taken her bid seriously, but in this last week, he seems to have acknowledged that Ellie isn’t backing down on her bid. Now she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. If he really is the Institute plant, like Piper’s convinced that he is, then now would be the time for him to try and sabotage her. 

As she lies in bed staring at the ceiling, Ellie wishes for a cup of coffee. An _easy_ cup of coffee. The kind she used to get by throwing on her dressing gown over her pajamas and pulling her shoes on before dashing across town for a large mug from Francine and pastry. She can make coffee in the office, and in the winter when the temperature makes the trek across town extremely unappealing she does, but most days she spends cooped up in the office and it’s nice to walk through town and chat with a few people before settling down to work. 

Problem is, these days she’s in ‘mayoral candidate’ mode and walking around town looking like a hobo isn’t something she’s free to do right now. Not while McDonough might spin it against her. Which means that if she wants to go to Francine’s bakery and get a cup of coffee and some breakfast, she has to get dressed and style her hair and wash her face and _not_ look like she just rolled out of bed. So, she can either lie here and wish for a cup of coffee or actually do something about it. 

It takes her another 15 or minutes to begin getting dressed. The fall air is nippy this early and she hates to leave the warmth of her blankets. Eventually, she sits up in bed, careful to keep her comforter wrapped around her and from the edge clicks her lamp on before beginning picking out something to wear. Hanging from the rafters near the end of her bed is her dress for tomorrow’s debate. She bought it a couple of days ago when Piper decided that the entirety of her wardrobe was unsuitable for the event. Becky helped picked it out and Charlie made sure it fit right and now it was hanging there, taunting her.

She does her best to ignore it and finishes dressing in something warm before slipping on her shoes and heading downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, Ellie starts pulling her from its braid as she looks at the stacks and stacks of books that have made their way here since last fall. Deacon has been sending them in fits and starts all year, a couple here, half a dozen there, and a few months ago, he sent an entire wooden crate of back issues of the _Wasteland Survival Guide,_ several of which she’d never read before. They’d accumulated so many books that Nick had to buy a bookshelf from Myrna last month just to get them off the floor because it was starting to get hard to walk through the precariously stacked piles. She had no idea Deacon was this…well-read, in subjects ranging from electrical engineering to Lord Bryon’s poetry.

Pretty soon, Nick is going to have to get another bookshelf, because this one is quickly nearing capacity. And as much as she loves seeing the smile that lights Nick’s face every time more books arrive (and how it’s even wider when Deacon himself shows up with them), Ellie can’t help but feel like Deacon is moving in and she’s moving out. Not that she thought she’d spend the rest of her days living in Nick’s agency, or that she thinks that either Nick or Deacon are trying to move her out, just that she knows there isn’t room for all three of them in this place and she’s the odd one out in this situation. 

Ellie pulls the last of her braid free as she rounds the corner into the office proper. Nick looks up from the file he’s pursuing, probably the one of the unsolved they have lying around. A new case for Nick hasn’t come in for about two weeks now and Ellie wonders if that has anything to do with the election being right around the corner. 

“Mornin’,” Nick tosses over his shoulder as Ellie takes a seat at her desk and pulls out her small, round stand mirror.

“Morning,” she returns and starts brushing her hair, contemplating simply re-braiding it or going through the trouble of making victory rolls and curls. After a moment, she decides to save that effort for tomorrow. Braid it is.

“Howja sleep?” Nick sounds like he’s asking out of idle curiosity, but she knows his tricks.

“Horrible and you well know it. Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me tossing and turning all night.” She sighs. “I’m starting to think I won’t have a pleasant night’s sleep again.”

“Once you get settled in your new office, things will be better.” Nick’s convinced she’ll win and talks like she’s already the mayor-elect. It’s meant to be a boost of confidence, but lately, it feels like an expectation she won’t live up to.

“Maybe.”

Nick turns to look at her, she can see his face in the reflection of her mirror. “Ellie…”

“It’s nothing. I’m just nervous about the debate is all. Piper’s been prepping the hell out of me so it's just nerves. Everything is fine.” The look he gives her clearly says that he doesn’t believe her, but he lets her have her fiction and goes back to the case file. There are a couple minutes of silence while Ellie finishes braiding her hair and checks for strays. Then,

“Piper comin’ by again?”

Ellie hums an affirmative. “I suspect today’ll be especially grueling.”

“Don’t prep all day,” Nick says, peering at her over his shoulder. “You need a break before the big day.”

“I’ll let you tell her that. She’s convinced that we’re always one question away from perfection.” Something that Ellie believes as well. If she doesn’t perform up to her own expectations tomorrow because she fobbed off preparation now, Ellie will be very angry at herself. She stands then and grabs her coat from the back of her chair. “I’m going to grab some breakfast. Do you want anything?”

The moment the words are out of her mouth Ellie freezes in embarrassment. It had been months _and months_ since she’d mistaken Nick for Tom and she thought she was over doing that. A wave of grief washes over her then. God, she still misses Tom _so much,_ and Ellie has to concentrate on not crying and breathing through the tightness of her chest.

Nick pretends that nothing’s wrong or that she slipped up, and says as casually, “Coffee. Black. Two sugars, and one of those pastry things with the tarberry jam.”

She actually does start to cry then because how it is that she ended up with a friend like Nick? Her? The gutter rat from Goodneighbour who never had anything good and had to fight for every scrap of food and horde every cap until she could finally afford to leave that raider hellhole only to have it stolen from her by a bunch of Triggermen. They made her beg for it back after she went to them, half-starving for the lack of money, laughing as they did so and making lude suggestions as to how she could _earn_ it back. There was never a more satisfying sight than watching those assholes scramble for their guns as Nick Valentine strode oh so casually into the VIP section of the raider’s version of The Third Rail. 

The creaking of Nick’s chair is all the warning she gets before he pulls her into a hug, running one hand down the length of her back in a soothing motion. After a moment or two, Ellie uses one hand to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. 

“It was supposta be a joke,” Nick tells her, voice low. “Didn’t think my comedy skills were so bad.”

Ellie gives a wet sort of laugh. “Sorry. I mean logistically it was an okay joke, but I’m a little too stressed out for humour it seems.”

“You need a break.”

“Yeah, but until one of us is elected, I’m not going to get one.” Ellie draws back. “I’d better go get some breakfast, once Piper arrives I won’t get another chance for food until lunch.”

\- - - - -

Deacon arrives in the late afternoon, rolling into the agency whistling a tune that makes Nick laugh at hearing it and carrying a baseball bat slung over one shoulder. Ellie’s glad for the interruption; her brain is fried and if she has to answer one more question about the defense of Diamond City or synth snatchings she might scream. Deacon takes a seat next to Nick on the desk, leaning his baseball bat against it, as he says his hellos. 

“Come to see the great debate then?” Piper asks, leaning back in her chair, giving up on any more prepping and lighting a cigarette.

“Actually, no. A bit sad I’m gonna miss the awesomeness, but I gotta go south for some business —this is just a pit stop. I’m gonna do my best to make it back for the actual election night, though.” Deacon crosses his fingers and grins. “Gotta see that glory in person.”

Deacon’s changed his face twice in the last year (that they’ve seen), always going for some mix of pre-war Hollywood stars. Ellie can’t say she’s ever seen the people Deacon’s surgeon tries to emulate, but sometimes Nick guesses right on one part or another. When he pulls off his toque, his hair frizzes slightly from the static electricity and wanders about his head in a red curly mop. He very badly needs a haircut, but Deacon doesn’t seem to have time to spare for such frivolities. They’ve hardly seen him in person at all this year, just his books.

“So, I’m starvin’ and you two look like you need a drink, asap,” Deacon tells them looking between her and Piper. “Dugout? I’m buyin’.”

Piper stands, stretching. “Can’t. I gotta go see about Nat. She’s probably hungry too.”

“Bring her, we can eat together,” Deacon insists. “I think we need a celebration to mark this momentous occasion and I have a small fortune of caps dyin’ to get into that Diamond City economy.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you become so flush?” Nick asks.

“The hard way: killin’ raiders and scroungin’ for valuables. Been busy work lately.” Deacon bangs his boots on Nick’s desk. “What? You don’t actually think I get paid, do you? Ha! I wish.” 

“Never?” Ellie asks, somewhat appalled given all the work that Deacon does for the Railroad.

“Sometimes I get an operational budget or we get compensation for a truly difficult baddie clean-up, but we’re not exactly rollin’ in caps. I mean, there really aren’t a lot of people who want to donate to our cause, unless they’re already workin’ for us.” Deacon shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, I make do. I make well do since there’s never a shortage of raiders to kill. So, food?”

It takes a little more coercion on Deacon’s part to talk Piper into letting him buy her and Nat food as well as pay for alcohol, but if there’s one thing Deacon’s good at, it’s convincing people to do things. Piper’s been strapped for caps anyways, Ellie knows, because she’s thrown herself into the business of managing Ellie’s campaign and her writing and has suffered accordingly. Her money-bringing-in writing, anyways. Piper’s printing press has been running non-stop with pamphlets and flyers about Ellie’s mayoral candidacy. She’s even had to test out her homemade paper and colour ink recipes just to have enough raw ingredients for the endeavour. 

The hour is still early enough when they arrive in the Dugout Inn, there aren't many people who have yet shown up for food or drinks. Deacon commandeers several tables, pushing them together with little more than a bright grin tossed at Vadim, who just shrugs shoulders and comes over to their table. 

“Don’t like the way my tables are set up?” Vadim asks with laugh.

“Your feng shui is top notch, pal, it’s just I expect a large group before the night is out.”

“Oh? Well, by all means, move them, move them. Haha! Now, what can I start you off with?”

“Four supper meals and drinks for anyone seated at these tables,” Deacon tells him as he takes a seat in a chair. “Start me a tab, will ya?”

Vadim waves Scarlett over from where she’s readying the bar. “And who are you, friend?”

Deacon is about to speak some lie or another when Nick cuts him off. “Put it under my name, Vadim. You can extort payment from him at the end of the night.”

“Or from you, if he decides to skip town, eh, Nick?” Vadim laughs. “Works for me. Scarlett four brahmin stews for this group, and whatever they are interested in drinking.”

Piper and Nat arrive just as their stews hit the table, the two of them looking like they’re hungry for something a little more substantial than change. It makes Ellie feel guilty. It’s one thing for Piper to go without for the sake of Ellie’s campaign (not a great thing, but she’s an adult and can make that choice for herself), but Nat too? Nat would never complain about such things, just find other ways of getting what she needs, but it doesn’t seem right that Nat goes without because Ellie needs Piper’s expertise. 

Nick must notice the look she gives the Wrights because he gives her arm a quick squeeze of reassurance. She tosses him a small smile and returns to her food, not exactly okay with the situation but the election is almost over now so one way or another, Piper will be back to business as usual soon enough. 

Ellie doesn’t speak much as Deacon chatters his way through their supper, most of his focus on Nat, as he tells what must be heavily edited stories about his adventures since he last rolled through town. It’s easier to just let her mind relax as Deacon carries the conversation, eliciting a few queries as he goes and some noises of surprise. Nick watches him, one arm slung over the back of Deacon’s chair, with an indulgent sort of smile that turns into something more amused every time Deacon tells a rather unbelievable lie. He doesn’t say anything to point it out, and Piper and Nat’s eye narrow on some of the more ridiculous ones, but Ellie can read Nick like a book, even if she can’t always tell which way _Deacon’s_ words lean.

Once they’ve finished their supper, Deacon demands to hear about the election and Piper is more than happy to furnish him all the details (within reason of course because they can’t give away any trade secrets that someone might take to McDonough). For the most part, Ellie only chimes in when she’s needed because she prefers this moment of comfortable relaxation and friendship to just wash over her after the weeks of stressful preparations. She’d rather just listen and laugh and welcome anyone to their table who happens to wander close enough to get drawn in by Piper and Deacon’s conversation. 

It doesn’t take long for Deacon’s prediction of more company to prove right. Even without the knowledge of free drinks, their tables fill up fast, fast enough that by the time Arturo and Nina arrive, Sun, the Fallones, several transient farmers (Justin, Flynn, and Grace if Ellie remembers correctly—hopefully this year they won’t have to leave), Miss Edna (she likes the activity of the bar even though, like Nick, it holds no physical appeal for her) and Francine have all settled themselves around their tables so Art has to drag another one to the end to make space for the two of them. Which leads to John and Cathy joining them, and then Moe and Solomon and eventually even Myrna —that speaks volumes about the pull their group has right now. 

By the time last call rolls around, Ellie swears that a quarter of Diamond City is packed into the bar and all of them are at their tables. She can’t remember a time when she laughed or enjoyed herself so much. The two ends of their mass of tables can’t even hear or speak properly to one another, but it doesn’t matter, the idea that there all one large group brings them together in a way that simply being present in the same space can’t. This is the Diamond City Ellie wants to represent, wants to lead, not the isolationist and suspicious version that seemed to dominate the sunlight hours. It isn’t all McDonough’s fault that they’ve become that as a city, but he certainly hasn’t done anything to fix it. 

Vadim rings his bell for closing and people start shuffling out, most of them stopping by her chair and wishing her luck for her debate tomorrow and thanking Deacon for the drinks. Most of them don’t know who he is or why he’s being so generous with his caps, but the ones that matter most know Deacon despite his changed face and the rest are content that Nick and Ellie seem to be friends with him. Plus, a free drink never did go amiss in getting someone to like you. 

Piper and Nat are the last to leave and gather themselves together as Deacon goes to pay Vadim his money. Piper tells her to get as much sleep as possible— “I know, easier said than done,” —and wishes Ellie a good night just as Deacon’s surprised exclaim of: “250 caps?!” reaches them and they all pause, Ellie wondering briefly if she should chip in before Deacon starts laughing. “Worth it,” he says a tosses an old liquor bottle bag full of caps on the bar counter. “That’s 300. Have a good night, Vadim.”

“You too, my friend!” Vadim replies with a grin.

Out in the frosty night air, Deacon slings his arms around Nick and Ellie, happily humming the last tune that played on the radio under his breath (something by Dion, she thinks) as they start back toward the agency. Piper and Nat wave to them outside the Publick and then it’s just the three of them heading through the deserted market, staffed only by Takahashi and Percy. 

As they round the corner of Third Street, Ellie asks, “When’a you leaving tomorrow?”

“Early,” Deacon replies. “Still gotta a long way to go.”

“Quincy?” Nick asks and Deacon hums his agreement.

“So, you two are gonna behave, then?” Ellie asks with a sidelong smirk. “I do have to get my beauty sleep, after all.”

Deacon makes a noise of mock affront. “Are you questioning my maidenly honour?”

“Pretty sure ‘maiden’ hasn’t applied to you for a while, kid,” Nick says with a chuckle.

“If ever,” Ellie adds because his appalled look is amusing.

“I’m quite sure I don’t have the faintest idea what you're implying,” he sniffs. “Why I’m as pure as the driven snow. Metaphorically, of course, I’m not that irradiated…I don’t think. Maybe I should get the old levels checked, though.” He gets thoughtful and Nick shrugs his arm off to unlock the door. “Think I should go wake, Sun?”

“Not unless you wanna die,” Nick tells him and pulls him in through the door while Ellie huffs laughter.

Ellie knows she’s looking forward to the comfort of her bed tonight and Deacon suddenly flags as they enter the agency. He takes off his sunglasses for the first time since he arrived, revealing dark circles around his eyes that are practically black. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ellie says, running a hand over his face, “Why didn’t you say something?” Nick moves up beside her and they hustle Deacon around to bed.

“What? And be a total buzz kill?” he replies with a sad sort of smile. 

“Idiot,” Nick mutters, his tone a mix between fond and exasperated.

“Yep,” Deacon agrees and starts pulling off his coat and then vest. “I just…didn’t want the caps anymore, ya know? Figured they should be spent on a good cause.” He sighs and sits on the bed, head in his hands. Nick takes one side and Ellie the other. 

“Blood money,” Nick says and Deacon nods. Ah, that’s why he was so eager to get rid of them. 

“It’s not that raiders don’t deserve it, but…I’m tired of killing people. _‘I am in blood stepp’d so far…’_ ” He kind of laughs. “My own fault, I know. I did say that I was done with undercover missions, but this new role of enforcer... well, it doesn’t lend to a good night’s sleep.” Deacon’s silent for a time, then he yawns and pats Ellie’s knee. “But enough about my sob story, you need your sleep, Ellie. Big day tomorrow.”

Deacon stands, pulling Ellie with him and gives her a quick peck on the cheek and a smile. She returns it and heads upstairs to get ready for bed. There’s something inexplicably sad about Deacon’s expression when he looks at her sometimes and she’s often wanted to ask what it is about her that makes him look at her like that, but she hasn’t because Ellie doesn’t think she’ll get an honest answer from him. And maybe that’s for the best, there are somethings in this world that should remain secret.

Despite her tiredness, Ellie goes through her nightly rituals, and thankfully, since her hair is already braided, that’s one less thing she has to worry about. The two of them do a sort of dance outside the bathroom door as Deacon exits and she tries to get in that has Ellie laughing at his purposeful clumsiness. When her head finally settles against her pillow, Ellie finds that she’s much too tired for her usual worrying and falls asleep almost immediately.

She’s jolted awake an uncertain amount of time later by the frantic pounding of someone at the front door of the agency. Knowing that no one comes by after hours with good news, Ellie scrambles out of bed, throwing her dressing gown on and slipping her shoes on without socks. By the time she makes it downstairs, meeting Deacon on the way, Nick has opened the door and is helping a crying Becky Fallon to the client chair in front of Ellie’s desk.

“They took him!” she sobs, clinging to Nick’s shirt sleeve. “Came into our bedroom and just _took_ him!”

Ellie goes to Becky’s side and kneels on the floor. “Who?”

“Them! The… _Institute,_ ” Becky says, hesitant to speak the name aloud like it might bring whatever horror that invaded their home back. Ellie clasps her hand, as Nick and Deacon share a grim look over their heads.

“We’ll go and… look around,” Nick tells Becky, keeping his voice pitched low and she gives a distracted sort of nod. Ellie’s never seen Becky in this state before, it’s a shock, though having Charlie just…taken. _God._ Ellie can’t even imagine what that would be like, to have a loved one stolen right in front of your eyes like that.

“Do you want anything?” Ellie asks after a moment of quiet tears. “Water?” but Becky shakes her head, wiping her face.

“I should…go back and help. I mean— Nick doesn’t know how it happened.”

“If you want, sure, but Nick’s pretty good at his job. If you want to just stay here, that’s okay too.”

“No— no. I want to hear…I want to see what he does,” Becky replies, voice hardening. Her initial shock and grief are quickly turning to anger. Ellie nods and stands, walking with Becky as they traverse the dark street to Fallon’s. In the market, the light from the Power Noodle’s canopy proves plenty of illumination for them to traverse the stairs down to the basement. 

Inside, the scent of ozone hangs heavy in the air, like a small thunderstorm rolled recently through the space. In the center of the shop, a large, uneven scorch mark has burnt the floor and singed several dressers and pieces of clothing. The mark looks like the blast radius of some small bomb, and in the ash, there are two sets of heavy tread boots prints making their way across the floor towards the door that leads to Becky and Charlie’s bedroom. 

Deacon is staring grimly at the scorch mark, carefully walking around the edges of it so he doesn’t disturb the area, eyes flicking up briefly to look at them when they arrive. Nick is inside the bedroom, looking at the mess of knocked over clothing and one broken lamp that clearly indicates a struggle. That’s somewhat hopeful; if Charlie could struggle, it meant he left alive. 

“There were two of them,” Becky tells Nick, leaning against the doorway into her bedroom. “We were ‘woke by this…loud crack. It sounded like a lightning struck the top of the tin roof. Charlie was half way out of bed when they burst into the room—” She has to pause momentarily as her voice wavers, her knuckles white on the doorway. Nick gives her all his focus, silently encouraging Becky to continue.

“One came to my side…” her eyes flick to the bed, “and pinned me down with a hand around my mouth. The other grabbed Charlie, picked him up like he weighed nothing, but Charlie fought —the lamp was him.” Becky points to the broken lamp on the floor. “When Charlie was out of the room, the one that had me pinned down told me in the calmest, most toneless voice I’d ever heard that if I moved from the bed they’d kill me.” She shivers as if reliving the memory and Ellie puts a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I just— I just laid in bed, scared out of my wits and then there was another loud crack.” Becky starts crying again, not the frantic sobs she’d come into the agency with, but a silent sort of grief that is even worse to witness. “They took my Charlie and I just laid there…”

Ellie pulls her into a hug and tries to soothe her as best she can. “Let’s go back to the agency,” Ellie whispers. “You don’t need to be here now,” and Becky nods.

Back at the agency, Ellie gets Becky some water and sits her down in a chair. Ellie leans against her desk and is quiet, just letting Becky process how she needs to without forcing her into a conversation. Not that Ellie has any idea what to say, what _is_ there to say to someone who witnessed what she did? The guilt and shame of Becky’s words _‘They took my Charlie and I just laid there…’_ eat at Ellie; she understands the sentiment, the utter helplessness and self-loathing they imply: ‘If only I’d done something different…’

“There wasn’t anything you could’ve done,” Ellie says after a time. “If you had tried to save Charlie, they would’ve made good on their threat.”

“I…I know. I _know_ that,” Becky replies, voice wrung out and then taps her head. “This tells me there was nothing to be done, but this—” she taps her chest, “…says I should’ve done something.” She looks at the floor. “He would’ve for me.”

“And you would’ve scolded him.”

Becky gives a wet sort of laugh. “Yeah. I would’ve.” 

They fall into silence again for a couple minutes, then Nick returns, bringing in a blast of cold air. Ellie raises an eyebrow, silently questioning why Deacon isn’t with him, and Nick jabs a thumb in the direction of the street and mouths ‘Arturo’. He takes a spot leaning on the desk next to Ellie and Becky looks up at him, waiting for some sort of…assessment, answers? Nick holds up a hand in a _‘Just one moment,’_ gesture and they wait for Deacon to return. 

It doesn’t take long before the door opens again, and both Deacon and Arturo shuffle through, Arturo blinking in the bright light of the agency and looking exactly like a man roused from bed in the dead of the night. Deacon moves around the desk and brings both chairs out, offering one to Arturo and the other to Ellie. Becky gives Arturo a questioning look, clearly wondering why he’s been brought over and Ellie must admit she’s curious herself unless Deacon plans to…

“So…bad news, or really bad news?” Deacon asks Becky once everyone has settled, looking impossibly tired and grave. 

Becky straightens slightly in her chair, steel settling into the corners of her mouth as she says, “Don’t spare me because you think I won’t handle what you have to say. Just tell me what’s what. Starting with why Mr. Rodriguez is here—” she gestures to Arturo.

It’s Nick that answers (they must have talked about this beforehand), “When we asked Charlie to make that coat for Rhett last Christmas, he had figured out that Rhett’s primary occupation wasn’t a merc, so I’m guessin’ you had too. Or better yet, had it figured first.”

Becky looks at Deacon, a frown on her face. “Yes. Charlie is— I told him, yes.” She pauses to take a few breaths and stave off a fresh wave of tears. “The strange laser damage on your vest was the first clue, but really who else needs to change their face on such a regular basis or rolls into town with an injured synth in tow?—” Deacon sighs and rubs his eyes, looking annoyed at himself. “You might do well to get rid of that heart and those brass buttons…Charlie does like his pop. At least _they_ knew better to get you a coat that wasn’t quite so ostentatious.” Becky returns her attention to Nick. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I guess that means I’m a bit a better at hidin’,” Arturo says with a small smile and Becky looks at him with genuine surprise. 

“It’s like this,” Deacon starts, drawing Becky’s gaze again, “The guys that stormed your house were Coursers, the Institute’s top baddies. We call ‘em ‘fuck up your day tech’ because that’s what they do, on a seriously major scale. It’s not often anyone meets one and lives to tell about it, and I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a snatch and grab quite like this, They coulda killed both of you without any trouble, but they didn’t. So, I think that at least for now, Charlie’s still alive. Thing is, even _we_ don’t know where the Institute hangs its hat so even though Charlie’s still alive, there is nothin’ we can do about it.”

Anger flashes over Becky’s face. “What’da you mean you don’t know? You rescue synths! If you don’t know where they are, how do you get them in the first place?!”

“They just…sorta fall into our lap.”

“I can’t believe this,” Becky says, shaking as she rises abruptly from her chair and causing it to be pushed back a couple inches. “How could you ever be an effective organization with such a— a, a slipshod way of operating? You can’t even rescue _synths_ properly!” She clenches her fists and closes her eyes against the leaking of tears, her anger deflating suddenly. “I’ll never see Charlie again.”

Ellie stands from her chair and moves to Becky, helping her sit back down and trying to be as comforting a presence as possible. Arturo moves the chair Ellie was sitting in next to her so she can use it again and Ellie gives him a smile of thanks. When she’s settled, Deacon continues talking.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Look, if there can possibly be a silver lining to this horrible situation it’s this: because you witnessed them taking Charlie, we can be almost certain that they didn’t take him to replace him, so they wanted him for another reason.”

“What could that possibly be? We could hardly be of note to them. We’re good at what we do, but how could that possibly compare to… _them?_ ”

There a moment of silence that follows that question because Becky has asked something that doesn’t seem to have an answer. 

“So… I have a theory,” Arturo says, rotating his chair back and forth and looking thoughtful. “And feel free to tell me that I’m starting to sound like Piper, but what if this isn’t necessarily about Charlie?”

Deacon makes a noise somewhere between a swear and a groan of _‘Why didn’t I think of that?’_ , but Nick and Ellie share a look of confusion. 

“What do you mean, Art?” Nick asks.

“Well, the debate’s tomorrow—today, and the election itself is six days away…it just seems like suspicious timing, doesn’t it? So, what if this is more about giving McDonough an edge because once this news—” he makes a twirling gesture with one hand, “—hits the market and people hear about how Institute thugs broke into a home, a case could be made for postponing the election.”

The horrible implication of Arturo’s words settle heavily on Ellie. “And that would give him enough time to spin this to his advantage, make some idiotic case for his own leadership. That sonuvabitch! How dare he send those _monsters_ after the innocent people of this city.”

“We can’t be sure it was him,” Deacon points out, “but it’s likely for his advantage.”

Nick gives her a half grin. “Even McDonough knows you’re gonna win, Ellie.”

“Well, I won’t if people believe whatever tale he’s got cooked for the occasion. As much as I love this city, she’s far too reactionary for her own good.”

“Then let’s take the opportunity away from him,” Becky says. “The mayor probably thought I’d go to the DCS first—” she snorts, “—as if anyone would as useless as they are— forgive me for saying so, Ellie. He won’t be able to say anything about the…the kidnapping until I do, so perhaps I’ll wait for a while to report it and give you a chance to come up with something yourself.”

“Becky…you don’t have to do that— I can’t ask you do that.”

Becky gets a resolute expression on her face, tears shimmering in her eyes. “It’s not as if DCS will be able to do anything, I’ve heard loud and clear that Charlie is well beyond anyone’s reach now…” she chokes. “I’ll keep hope I’ll see him again, but in the meantime, I won’t let that _bastard_ use my Charlie for his own advantage.”

Ellie nods, wondering if she should go wake Piper, but Nick looks at her, clearly reading her mind, and says, “Sleep first; Piper second. I’ll wake you at six and you can go get Piper then.”

“What time is it?” Deacon asks with a yawn that nearly cracks his face in half. 

“Just after three.”

Arturo says his goodbye then, with a comment to Deacon about sending a report to HQ and leaves the four of them to return to his house. Ellie offers Becky her bed for the rest of the night if she’d rather not go home because Ellie can’t imagine wanting to return to that bed anytime soon. Becky waivers on accepting clearly noting that the agency is a full house already. 

“There’s probably an empty bed in the farmer’s encampment, most of them are gone now,” Deacon says, “I’ll crash over there for the rest of the night.”

“No, don’t be silly,” Ellie tells him and then pauses as she tries to think of an acceptable solution because he can’t go to the Dugout Inn, both Bobrov brothers will question why he needs a room at this hour and Arturo isn’t really a good choice either with the apparent watchful eye the Institute has on the town. “Look, we’re both adults. We can share a bed.”

Deacon sort of laughs and says, “You’re not familiar with my work, are you?” 

Then, Becky starts to protest about putting Ellie out and how she’s perfectly capable of going home and clearly, Ellie’s lost control of the situation. Deacon cuts through the chatter with, “They’ve got tents, sleeping bags, and a fire. Just need to throw on a pair of socks and I’ll be good. What more could a guy want?”

“A space heater?” Nick asks with a smirk.

“Only if you’re offering, detective.”

And that’s how Ellie ends up sleeping three hours in Nick’s bed. She’d like to say she didn’t sleep a wink after what had happened earlier, but the truth is, she slept like the dead.

\- - - - -

Nick gently shakes her awake after what feels like only a few moments of sleep, but logistically can’t be. Her eyes are heavy and she has to shake sleep off because she knows that if she gives into the urge to lie down again, she’ll fall right back to sleep. The air of the agency is a bit cold after the warmth of the covers, and she pulls them around her as she sits up, the light from the main office area spilling through the short hall. When she’s got enough of her senses, Nick hands her a large mug of coffee he must have procured before he came by because it’s in one of Francine’s. 

“Breakfast isn’t quite ready down at the bakery,” Nick tells her quietly and she takes a grateful sip. “This’ll have to do for another hour or so.”

Ellie nods. “Deacon?”

“Left him to sleep. He’s out good. I imagine Becky is too.”

Ellie can’t say for sure, but it seems likely. When she doesn’t feel immediately like crawling back into bed, Nick stands from his crouch. 

“I’ll go get Piper and you get dressed,” Nick tells her and after her noise of acceptance leaves her to nurse her hot coffee and attempt to get her dressing gown on without giving up the warmth of the covers —it’s not terribly successful. 

She checks the time on her pocket watch once she’s slipped on her dressing gown and makes her way out to the office. It’s pushing 6:30 a.m. and that doesn’t leave them a lot of time to come up with something before Becky needs to talk with the DCS about Charlie. If they wait any longer than an hour and a half, they’ll be giving McDonough more ammo, not less. However, sleep is still clogging her brain and it’s making planning and scheming a little difficult right now, so she hopes that Piper manages something more intelligent that she can right now. 

About five minutes later, Piper arrives in the office. Managing a quiet flurry as she does so, carrying a thick file under one arm, a mug of coffee in the other, and an open box of Sugar Bombs. Piper sets it all down on Ellie’s desk, and pulls a metal rectangle out of her coat pocket (the red, leather one she’d been eyeing in Becky’s shop for the last two years; she’d gotten it last month on her birthday and Charlie added some of his signature protection between the leather and added an extra layer of warm fabric so it effectively keeps out the cold. Ellie’s been wondering how she managed to afford it, but hasn’t thought it right to ask.), setting it down as well. 

“You try and get one good night’s sleep and it all goes to hell,” Piper says by way of greeting and sits in the chair opposite Ellie’s. “Also, Nick went to check on Deacon.”

“I figured, and yeah, pretty much.” Ellie agrees, “but I see you’ve come with ideas?” She phrases it as a question because that’s what the file looks like, but she can’t be sure until Piper explains.

“Well…it’s not so much ideas as it is potential.” Piper flips the cover open and inside are a haphazard collection of paper scraps and photos. “I’ve been keeping a file on McDonough since he took office, meaning to collect enough dirt to publish an article clearly outlining why he’s everything wrong with this town, but this seems like a better use.” She starts pulling out a few pieces of paper with photos attached to them. “Most of the stuff in here is hearsay, rumours, and uncorroborated stories, obviously not enough for an exposé, but these—” Piper spreads the papers in front of Ellie, “—are the few instances when I’ve been able to catch that bastard with his pants down.”

There are three photos paperclipped to papers detailing the date, time, and conversation that the photos are capturing. Piper points to the first one, it shows the Head of DC security taking a pouch of what must be caps from another man that Ellie isn’t familiar with. “This one is pretty recent, caught it a couple months ago when your campaign was really starting to pick up steam; that’s one of Latimer’s goons, Joey Gallo handing caps to Captain Nitti. Their conversation is careful, nothin’ especially compromising and by itself all that can really be inferred is that the Captain’s on the take (which he is, though Latimer usually only pays to keep his idiot kid outta jail since chem dealin’ isn’t exactly illegal), but along with all these—” Piper pulls out a bundle of papers, “—a pretty good case could be made that the Captain takes caps on behalf of the Mayor.”

Ellie looks through the papers, skimming the writing on them, after a moment she says, “The Captain never seemed crooked…and there’s no real proof here.” 

“Which is exactly why I haven’t published anything, but if McDonough is gonna play dirty, then so are we. This is circumstantial enough that if leaked it would force McDonough back a step as he tries to disprove these claims. That’s assumin’ he even can.”

Ellie frowns slightly. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with lying, Piper. I’m trying to be better than him, not _be_ him.”

“It’s not strictly lying, more like…slightly jumpin’ the gun. At the time this payment was made, Nelson was in Goodneighbour and had been for nearly two weeks (probably in some chem den), so why make a payment? In my experience, Latimer doesn’t pay for services not yet rendered. Plus, Latimer has always been cozy with McDonough, it’s not that much of a stretch.”

“If that’s true, why wouldn’t he make an official donation to McDonough? Why the cloak and dagger?”

Piper considers her answer for a moment like she’s trying to pull all the threads of her knowledge into sentences that will make sense and not just gut feelings and suspicions. “…An official donation would have put him squarely in McDonough’s camp, for good or ill, and Latimer isn’t dumb. Right now, your campaign is very strong and if I had to guess at a motivation, I’d say he wants to stay neutral by not _picking_ sides, or at least giving the impression he hasn’t, in case you do win.”

That’s a logical answer and one that she can believe, but Ellie still doesn’t like the idea of using something that they can’t conclusively prove, especially if it somehow comes to bite them. So far, she’s been more or less untouchable in the campaign and Ellie wants it to stay that way. If she starts flinging unsubstantiated mud all she’ll be doing is giving McDonough something else to use against her. She looks at the other two photos and immediately notes one of interest. Ellie points at it. 

“Is that what I think it is?”

Piper grins. “If you think that coat very closely resembles the one worn by the synth Deacon brought to town last year, then yes, yes, it is.”

In the photo, the man, synth, wearing the coat is turned and looking toward the camera, if he saw Piper taking the picture, she doesn’t know, the sunglasses he’s wearing prevent the viewer from telling exactly where he’s looking, but it’s the expression on McDonough’s face that speaks volumes about what’s going on. He looks furtive, spooked almost, but with a sort of fearful reverence as he hands a holotape to the synth.

“How’d you get this?” Ellie asks, with wonderment. “Nick can hear a mole rat from like 200 yards, how’d you ever get close enough?”

Piper preens a little. “Through the creative use of a half a binocular. Nat isn’t the only one capable of a little jury-riggin’ now and then. Thing is, this photo is a last resort. I don’t want to pull it out until absolutely necessary because though it will likely crush McDonough’s campaign completely, anyone with a lick of sense will question why I held on to it for so long without sayin’ anything and that’ll hurt me and by extension you.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Wasn’t sure it was a synth, and even that isn’t enough of a condemnation. I don’t think every synth is bad news and I don’t want to play into that rhetoric.” Piper shrugs. “I didn’t know what the meeting was about until I saw that synth Deacon brought into town and well…there are so many variables here. Again, why this has to be last resort.”

“Alright. What about this last one then?” Ellie unclips the photo from the paper and holds it up. In the picture, McDonough is having an argument with a ghoul. “Some irate former resident?”

“Sorta. That’s John.”

Ellie looks at Piper in surprise. “What? No, it can’t be. This man’s a ghoul,” and Piper nods. “Oh my God… when did that happen?”

“’Bout a year after McDonough became Mayor. That there is the last time they’ve talked to my knowledge. Hell, they won’t even speak as one Mayor to another.”

Ellie looks at the picture again, trying to see John’s face in the angry ghoul. Why didn’t Nick mention this anytime he ever returned from Goodneighbour? Ellie knew that John preferred to go by Hancock these days, but she’d missed this particular bit of information. It almost made her like McDonough a little bit, that he hadn’t used the fact that John had become a ghoul as some sort of political credit, like: “My own brother is a ghoul and I still believe that this city is safer without them,” or something to that effect. She skims over the transcript of the agreement and clearly John his giving his brother what-for about his anti-ghoul decree. 

“We can’t use this, Piper,” Ellie says and sets the photograph aside. “As much as we dislike McDonough, his personal family relations shouldn’t be something we drag through the mud.”

“Okay. If that’s how you wanna play it.” Piper leans back in the chair and grabs the box of Sugar Bombs, pulling out a handful of dry cereal. “So, since we know what kind of ammunition we have, let’s figure out what to say about…Charlie.”

Around 7:45 a.m. they break, having decided on few different things to say and routes to go depending on what McDonough says about Charlie’s kidnapping. Piper leaves her file, “If we start using this, I’ll become a major target and we can’t have this stuff getting destroyed. Keep it in your safe,” and Ellie gives a grim nod as she squirrels the file away with their caps and the agency’s deed. Piper also hands the metal rectangle to Ellie, “I want you to keep this with you at all times.” 

“Uh…okay? What is it?” Ellie turns the object over in her hands noting the buttons on the side and the holotape visible through a little plastic window. 

“It’s a holorecorder. Nat made it work with an energy cell instead of batteries. If you push the red button, it’ll record sounds, so just in case someone tries to corner and threaten you to stop your campaign we can nail them with some real evidence.”

Ellie raises her eyebrows but pockets the recorder. “I hope it doesn’t come to that, but thanks.”

When Piper heads home to get properly ready for the day, Ellie has a quick shower. She changes into the clothes she gathered last night before sending Becky off to sleep in her bed. By the time she’s finished dressing, Deacon and Nick have arrived back in the agency. As Ellie’s starts setting her hair in pin curls, Becky joins them, looking like she might have had a hard time getting to sleep last night. The boys brought breakfast and the three of them eat in relative quiet, Ellie slower than the other as she concentrates on her reflection in the mirror, trying to get the placement of her pin curls just right.

Deacon asks a few questions about the things that her and Piper came up with and Ellie elaborates somewhat on the topic, but she doesn’t want to talk much about the photographs Piper brought with Becky at hand so she talks more about what she might say if McDonough tries to push for a postponement. 

It takes her a good 25 minutes to get her hair fully pinned and the Ellie wraps a decorative scarf around her head to hide the unfinishedness of it while the curls dry in place (she won’t be taken seriously if she walks around with her pin curls visible). Deacon tells her that the scarf makes her look like an Old-World Hollywood star and Ellie doesn’t quite believe she's as pretty as the women in those old posters and magazines, but she appreciates the sentiment. Then, he gives her a quick peck on the cheek, and Nick too, before he leaves with a “Good luck, Ellie —not that you’ll need it,” tossed over one shoulder.

When he’s gone, there’s a moment of silence that always seems to descend on them, a moment of sadness that touches them, and one of worry. It lifts in the next moment but will linger slightly as a vague sort of unease until Deacon arrives again whole and hale. Lately, Ellie finds that it’s been particularly affecting Nick and she wonders what he knows that’s making him feel it that much more. Of course, he always does feel it more, but this seems different and Ellie knows she hadn’t been let in on whatever is bothering Nick. Yet.

Becky looks at Ellie, “Well I suppose there’s no putting it off any longer. Are you ready?”

Ellie nods. “Are you?”

Becky gives a sad sigh. “No, but I can’t hide here forever. I can do this for his sake, if not my own.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like much and that you might never see him again—” Ellie reaches across the desk to take Becky’s hand, “—but I promise you that we won’t forget about or stop trying to find Charlie.”

Nick nods in agreement. “All of us, includin’ Art and Rhett.”

“Thank you. Very much.”

Ellie gives her hand one last squeeze before she stands. 

Out in the market, there is a small group of DC security guards standing outside Fallon’s Basement and the three of them approach with some surprise. Becky glares at them, heading immediately down the stairs and into her stop, barking as she gets through the door, “What the hell are you doing here?!”

The two DCS guards that are in the main shop area, picking through the burnt clothing in the wardrobe that got caught by whatever caused the scorch mark, jump at the address as if they didn’t expect Becky to make an appearance. Then, from in her bedroom, another two guards appear, one of them being Captain Nitti himself. 

“Mrs. Fallon,” Nitti says, surprised himself at seeing her, “we feared the worst. Is Mr. Fallon with you?”

“No. He’s not,” she replies tightly. “How’d you get in here? The door was locked.” Becky had given Nick the key at the agency before she went to bed and Nick locked the shop up for her.

“We picked the lock. Sorry for breakin’ in, but we had reports of a disturbance and no one answered our knocks,” Captain Nitti replies as he eyes Ellie and Nick. The relationship between the DCS and Nick has always been uneasy at best. Nick has plenty of individual friends within the guards, but since Nitti took over as Captain back in 2283 there’s been the general sense that Nick’s business is disapproved of. Which Ellie doesn’t really understand because the DCS is never willing to do the sorts of things that Nick does, nor has Captain Nitti treated Nick any differently than the town’s human residents, and until that picture of Piper’s, Ellie didn’t realize the man took bribes.

“Reports of a disturbance?” Becky repeats, a half crazy look on her face. “Oh, there was a _disturbance_ alright. Five fucking hours ago, there was a disturbance and you’re just now getting here? Who the hell told you about this disturbance, hmm? Because if whatever left that mark—” she jabs at the scorch ring on the ground, “—didn’t wake the entire damned neighbourhood (which it didn’t as I traversed these streets twice in the dead of night), then I can’t possibly imagine what sort of disturbance someone would have reported.”

The DCS guards have all taken a step back under the force of her words, but Captain Nitti hasn’t moved, a frown etched on his face and a calculating look in his eye. “It was anonymous. Which, in light of this new information, seems rather suspicious. As does the fact that Ms. Perkins and Mr. Valentine are here with you.”

“There’s nothing suspicious about it, _Captain._ I’ve asked Nick to investigate Charlie’s kidnapping.”

The Captain’s frown grows even deeper, but at which piece of information, Ellie can’t say for sure. “Perhaps, Mrs. Fallon, you should start at the beginning.”

Nick tells most of it, probably to facilitate trust between himself and the DCS on this case. Becky has spent most of her energy in outrage so she only confirms or occasionally adds to the tale. They both leave out the fact that Deacon and Arturo joined them in discussing the situation, though the bit about Deacon might come back to bite them later. There are a few observant people in town who know that Rhett rolls into the agency every once and while and often with a new face. Even though Deacon didn’t identify himself this time around, two and two can be put together with enough scrutiny.

Once it’s all out, Captain Nitti has a look of controlled anger darkening his face but the only thing he says is to Ellie, “Ms. Perkins, as a mayoral candidate, it’s not appropriate for you to be involved any further. I’m sure we all see how much of a powder keg this is liable to be and you don’t want this to adversely harm your campaign, right?”

It almost sounds like a threat and Nick shifts closer to her side in response, but Ellie can’t be sure. She can’t be sure where Nitti’s loyalties lie, or if he was genuinely surprised by the revelation of Coursers in Diamond City, or whether his anger is that Nick and she know rather than at their invasion. However, Nitti does have a point that her further involvement in the case isn’t wise right now, she can’t be seen a giving preferential treatment to friends —Piper and she already discussed it earlier. 

“You’re right, Captain,” Ellie say with a nod, “Nick, you’ll have to manage on your own for now.” She gives Becky’s hand a squeeze and a meaningful look before she leaves the shop and ascends the stairs. 

The market is starting to fill up with people, most of them congregating around Fallon’s Basement. The DCS guards are keeping the crowd back and unable to see what’s going on, but the moment she hits the market level, Ellie is swamped by people and questions about what’s going on.

“Please, please! I don’t have any answers for you, but the DCS should be making a statement shortly,” Ellie calls above the noise. “Until then, we need to give them room to work.” She moves through the crowd toward Power Noodles and takes up a position where the sunlight can warm her. After a couple of minutes, Piper joins her, lighting a cigarette as they wait for Captain Nitti to emerge. Ellie checks her watch, it’s nearly 9 a.m.

Arturo finds them shortly after and Piper’s acknowledgment of him is little more than a nod, bit it’s a far cry from where they were this time last year. Ellie had wondered if the two of them would ever reconcile, but since the spring after Piper had solved Bunker Hill’s radiation problem, the two of them have been on better terms. She’s glad for it for their sakes as well as hers —it was really awkward being friends with Arturo for a while there.

There’s a sudden murmuring in the crowd then, and McDonough makes his appearance, pushing through to get to one of the DCS guards by the entrance to the basement. He heads down the stairs after a quick conversation, presumably to talk with Nitti about the situation. It doesn’t take long for the group to emerge after that, Captain Nitti and McDonough in the lead with Becky and Nick following. The crowd goes quiet in anticipation and Nitti addresses them with this statement:

“Late last night, two unknown assailants invaded Fallon’s Basement, assaulted Mrs. Fallon and kidnapped Mr. Fallon. —” there’s a gasp of horror from the crowd. “—There are no signs of forced entry and no guard on duty last night saw either assailant enter or leave Diamond City.” Captain Nitti’s eyes slide to McDonough for a brief moment before continuing, “We have no leads at this time.”

“That’s bullshit!” Becky roars from the steps of Fallon’s Basement. “It was the Institute! They took my Charlie.”

The ripple of panic that spreads through the crowd at that declaration rises like a wave, gaining more and more strength as the words sink in and people whisper. Ellie wishes that Becky hadn’t been quite so rash about blurting that out. The last thing they need right now is a panicked crowd that’s liable to agree with whatever security measures McDonough might suggest. 

Captain Nitti frowns in Becky’s direction, seemingly sharing Ellie’s sentiment. “All we have at this time is speculation, and while there’s the possibility of the culprit being the Institute, nothing is conclusive.” What he doesn’t say is that even if they did know for sure, and Deacon seemed convinced, there’s nothing they can do about it. “However, in light of this attack, it might be best to reschedule tonight’s debate.”

Beside Ellie, Piper huffs in irritation. They hadn’t anticipated that McDonough would get Nitti to suggest it, though it makes more sense for the Captain of the DCS to suggest it for security reasons than for the Mayor, but it limits Ellie’s ability to comment.

“No. Absolutely no,” Becky snaps. “I’m loath to say anything good about Goodneighbour but at least _they_ aren’t scared and we shouldn’t be either.”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t be scared,” Myrna says, voice sharp, “the Institute came into our town and kidnapped one of our own without anyone of us being aware of it. We’re fools not to fear that. What if Charlie returns as a replacement? What then, huh?”

“Like we need another ‘Broken Mask’, situation,” Moe adds.

“How would we even know?” Solomon asks, “I mean that Charlie was one’a them.”

Arturo shifts forward slightly and says, “Don’t they usually take someone without witnesses? We all know he’s gone, and that the Institute took him. If they tried to put him back here, we’d know it wasn’t him.”

“Not for sure, though,” John replies from where he’s standing on the Super Cuts’ ramp, “They don’t make robots like Nicky anymore. We wouldn’t be able to tell.”

“I’d know,” Becky says firmly, “I’d know.”

“Would you?” Myrna accuses. “Can any of us? Short of killing one of them.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Sun says from where he’s leaning against the support pillar of his shop, raising his voice enough to be heard. “That’s a road of mistrust we don’t want to go down.”

The murmuring from the crowd at that seems to suggest that as a whole, the group can’t seem to make up its mind over what do if a known synth rolled into town or was revealed to them. There’s plenty of people that would love to kill off the Institute’s ‘lackies’, but there are also lots of people who the see the good Nick has done in town and are willing to at least pause a moment before killing one. The arrival of the U.P. Deathclaw agents last year and their killing of a suspected synth in town, Carry Brown, shook people up, especially after Sun declared him as human as any of them. The idea that that kind of violence could reach them, that people would do that to one of their own…

Of course, those same people did nothing when Barbara Long was found strung up on Sammy Swatter the year before that. Even the Longs themselves can’t seem to decide what their stance is, so how can Diamond City?

“The simple fact of the matter is,” Nick starts voice carrying across the hushed crowd, “we can’t prepare for an enemy that can appear without warning, but what we can do is make it clear that we aren’t gonna be bullied into mistrust and hate. It’s not as if the Institute doesn’t have enemies or people working to bring them down, and I don’t believe that Charlie’s gone forever.”

Nitti and McDonough share a momentary look before the Captain speaks again, “We can’t be sure that the debate tonight won’t be a target—”

“It’ll be a target anytime we hold it if it’s gonna be one, right?” Piper interrupts, crushing the last of her cigarette out. “And I for one am not about to let the Institute dictate my electoral process.”

“The safety of Diamond City must come first,” Nitti says.

“There seems to be an easy way to solve this problem,” a clear and familiar voice says from the back of the crowd. People part to let the speaker though until Malcolm Latimer stands near the front with Captain Nitti and McDonough. “In the spirit of the electoral process Ms. Wright mentioned, let us vote on the issue.”

An agreeing murmur ripples through the crowd and Nitti shifts back slightly to allow Latimer to be more at the forefront. The Captain seems to have decided that he’s lost control of the crowd and concedes to Latimer. McDonough doesn’t give up quite so easily.

“Well, I’m certainly for going ahead with the debate, but should we so hastily ignore the words of our Captain? After all, it’s his job to keep the city safe.”

“Then he’ll keep us safe at the debate, regardless of when it is,” Ellie points out, finally getting an opportunity to speak now that McDonough has.

“Let’s vote then, shall we?” Latimer says and no further objects are voiced. “All in favour of postponing the debate?—” A third of the crowd raises their hands and Ellie feels a wonderful victory; she does her best to keep the expression of elation of her face, though. “—All those against?” Latimer continues more for ceremony than actual numbers. “Well, it appears that the nays have it. The debate will take place as scheduled.”

\- - - - -

Piper paces the length of the agency in agitated thought. “What the hell is his game?” she asks for the umpteenth time concerning Latimer’s apparent help. Ellie makes a noise of uncertainty once again and goes back to pursuing her notes. “Is this just one huge buff? Did he think the town would vote the other way? Does he just want to mess with McDonough a bit over some unknown issue?”

Ellie doesn’t even try for an answer this time. This is Piper’s way of working through a problem and she isn’t really looking for input. Of course, when she does eventually get around to asking a question she wants an answer to, Ellie won’t know until Piper gives her a look of _‘Why aren’t you listening?’_

“I mean it just doesn’t make sense. What am I missing?” Piper grumbles and lights another cigarette. She’s had three in the last hour. If she makes it four, Ellie is going to remind her that she made a promise to Nat this spring about cutting back. Plus, every time Piper lights up it makes Ellie crave one herself and she has firmly decided to cut back to one a day. Even Nick has cut back in consolidation with her —not that he needs to smoke.

Nick is sitting quietly at his desk and having given up going over old case files, has picked up Deacon’s copy of _War and Peace_ again. Before the election had really picked up, Ellie was going through _Julius Caesar_ on Deacon’s recommendation (it’s his favourite Shakespearean drama and he said it would be appropriate given what she was up against) but the prose is difficult to understand at times, and though Deacon had annotated throughout his words were cryptic at best and often with page numbers that didn’t make sense. 

It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago that she mentioned her frustration to Nick and he pulled out a couple different books that were all about _understanding_ Shakespearean language and plays that the annotations suddenly made sense, but by then the election had picked up and she had to put the play aside. Ellie will freely admit she prefers Moira Brown’s style of writing to Shakespeare’s, but she’s willing to give the old playwright another chance once things settle down. 

“What if Latimer is trying to get on your good side? Ya know, trying to playing both sides against each other?” 

Ellie gives a distracted hum, only realizing after Piper’s huff of annoyance that this is one of those questions directed at her. Ellie glances up from her papers and sees The Look. She takes a moment to replay the questions in her head.

“Well…maybe? But Latimer has to know that I’m not about to kowtow to any Upperstander.”

“No, so he’s trying to sweet talk you without actually sweet talking. Ya know, coming off as all democratic and fair-minded to sway you.” Piper flops into a chair, seemingly done pacing. “McDonough is probably easy to push around with the right threats of violence, but you’re made of sterner stuff. He probably is looking for a weakness to exploit.”

“Not every Upperstander is out to get us Lowerfielders,” Nick says from behind his book. 

“It’s yao guai eat yao guai world out there, Nick and they didn’t get to the top by being nice.”

“Piper, if we think every bad thing about them, how will we persuade them to think well of us? Surely, we have to start somewhere. Besides, right now what Latimer is or isn’t doing isn’t something I can’t afford to be thinking about.”

“Which is why you’ve got me. I’ll worry about his machinations, but no promises to play nice with those jerks once this is all over.”

Ellie frowns slightly and shuffles her papers. It’s not as if she expects Piper to change, but she’s under no illusions about how difficult it will be to mend bridges if Piper doesn’t give a little herself. Compromise is going to be the buzz word of her term if Ellie gets elected, she can already tell.

The morning shifts into a warmish afternoon, with the sun high in the sky. Even still, fires are lit around the Diamond City stage to help stave off the late autumn chill. Ellie has spent the last hour getting her hair to sit and stay just right; using every bit of knowledge gleaned over the years from half-burnt fashion magazines, Ellie’s backcombed and twisted her hair to within an inch of its life. By the time she takes the stage, Ellie can’t say she exactly feels like herself (she’s just a little too slick for her own liking) but like Nick told her, “Dress for the job you want.” 

He wanted to be a detective and she wants to be mayor. Slightly different clothing choices, but the idea is the same.

The first fifteen minutes is pretty ordinary, and Ellie is handling her own against the questions asked of them —the prep her and Piper have been doing for the last week is paying off. Eustace Hawthorne is the moderator for the debate as the Hawthornes are about the only people in Diamond City liked by every resident. The Upperstanders tend to stick together, so even if the Hawthornes don’t exactly fit the snooty mold, they’re ‘one of them’, so to speak, and the Lowerfielders have always appreciated the generosity and kindness shown by the family.

Then, someone from the crowd called out, interrupting Eustace’s next question, “What’re you gonna do about these damn synths?!” and the whole proceeding grinds to a halt. A few seconds tick by, and then another person seconds that question and suddenly the whole crowd has turned on them, demanding answers. It’s not until Jake Hawthorne fires his gun upwards into the air that the noise of the crowd is silenced. Abruptly.

“Thank you, Jake,” Eustace says and then turns to the crowd. “I wasn’t aware we’d become Goodneighbour barbarians,” she admonishes and there is some contrition from the people. “Normally, I wouldn’t allow such a question to be asked in such a manner. _However,_ there is a question in a similar vein to be asked, so I’ll do it now since we apparently can’t wait for it to come around on its own.” Eustace manages to be both kind and disappointed with the crowd, which has more of an effect of calming them than all the glowering DCS guards watching the proceedings. “A word of warning, though, if this disruption happens again, you can be damn sure you’ll be paying for your own drinks at this year’s Christmas party.”

There’s a sound of apology that moves through the crowd and a few people are jostling a man that must have shouted the questions. It has become a time-honoured tradition that on December 24th, the Hawthornes keep a tab at the Dugout Inn for anyone and everyone in Diamond City. Usually, drinks are in the form of Vadim’s heavily spiked tarberry punch, which ends up carried all over the market during the day’s celebrations. 

“Now,” Eustace continues, shuffling through her papers. “I believe that it is Ms. Perkins’ turn to go first for this question: As we all know, some of us painfully first hand, synths, and synth replacements are becoming an increasing problem for Diamond City. As mayor, what would you do to keep Diamond City safe from further incursions? Remember, you have one minute to answer.”

All eyes turn to Ellie and they seem infinitely heavier than before. She takes a breath. 

“I think the first thing that mayor must do is set an example, in all things, but in this particular case especially, in that we can’t be too reactionary concerning these incursions. Yes, they’re terrible, and yes, we’ve lost loved ones to them, but if we start suspecting every person who comes through those gates as an Institute spy or synth replacement, we’ll soon be questioning our neighbours, our friends, and our family. That’ll lead us down a dark path, one that we’ve had a glimpse this past year with the death of Carry Brown and before that with the horrible murder of the synth who replaced Barbra Long.

“What we need to be, now more than ever, is a strong community. As we’ve seen, so terribly, there isn’t a level of force from the DCS that can stop the Institute, so we must make our community impregnable by looking out for one another and being involved in each other’s lives. That way we can spot a replacement if it happens, and deal with them in a manner that is not reactionary or cruel.”

The murmuring that slips through the crowd can’t seem to make up its mind as to what side it wants to fall on, whether in agreement or opposition to what Ellie has said. Eustace opens her mouth to give McDonough his turn, when the same voice as before, the man who Ellie identifies this time as Franklin May, one of Diamond City’s three maintenance personnel and the one who refuses to do any work on agency because of Nick’s synth status. 

“Not cruel? They _murder_ our friends and family and we're supposed to…what? Just pat them on their heads and send them on their way?! No. _No._ This is bullshit.”

Again, the crowd can’t seem to decide where it wants to fall on this. Some people agreeing and other’s not so sure about it. There are even some telling May to shut up before Eustace decides to make good on her threat.

“Mr. May, I believe I already talked about the consequences for interrupting this debate,” Eustace says sharply.

“Well, that’s bullshit too. What’s the point of this fuckin’ thing if we can’t demand answers from these two?”

“This is a debate, not a forum. Which means, that impromptu questions are not allowed. If that isn’t to your liking, then I suggest you leave and speak with the candidates personally later.” Eustace turns from May to face McDonough. “Now, barring any more interruptions, Mayor, the same question to you.”

McDonough nods and looks thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I have to wonder if Mr. May doesn’t have a point, that treating these infiltrators and replacements with such friendship is perhaps not in our best interest. Not that I don’t see where Ms. Perkins is coming from, certainly, but can we really afford to be so lenient? And it’s not just synths that infiltrate of course, no, but those that willfully bring them into this city. Or those that aid in the escape of criminals who murdered one of our own.”

Warning bells start sounding in Ellie’s head; she glances to where Piper is standing in the crowd and sees her expression mirrored. 

“Unfortunately, we have an excellent example of both those things in a single person, so it seems to me that the best course of action is to start with those that we know are actively working against our city and make sure they can’t continue to harm it. In this particular case, we must look to Ms. Perkins to make it clear to her and Mr. Valentine’s friend, Rhett, that he isn’t welcome in our city anymore. We can’t have jailbreaks and dangerous synths in our city.”

He hasn’t even bothered to outline what he might do if another synth replacement or infiltrator appeared in Diamond City, McDonough has just shifted the focus from an enemy that can’t be fought to one that can, and Ellie feels anger begin to simmer below the surface. The worst part is, is that the man has a point that can be readily seen by the people of this town because Deacon _has_ done both those things, and yes, Ellie will admit that he probably could’ve at least handled the jailbreak differently (though, he was likely making the best of bad situation), she knows that Deacon has never and will never willfully bring harm to anyone in Diamond City that doesn’t deserve it. 

“Ms. Perkins, you have the chance to rebut, if you wish,” Eustace says and two hundred eyes turn to her. 

“I didn’t hear a plan in that statement, Mayor, just a vague assertion that it might be alright to harm someone on the suspicion of them being a synth. As to your other…point, this is a debate about Diamond City as a whole, and focusing on one individual, one who doesn’t even live in this city, is a diversionary tactic, at best, to cover up the fact that you don’t have a plan for synth incursions. When the election is over, we can certainly address any grievances against Rhett.”

That seems like it’ll be the last of the issue, at least on this stage, and Eustace begins shuffling through her papers to find where she previously left off in her questions, but McDonough speaks out of turn, and everything goes off the rails.

“I know what will happen to Rhett if I’m re-elected, but can we expect anything from you, Ms. Perkins? Would you put the good of this city head of your friendship with this man? Frankly, it’s a wonder you even can be friends with him, considering what happened to Mr. Kirk.”

That anger that has been simmering below the surface, breaks over her at the mention of Tom and leaves her trembling. How _dare_ he even… She has to clench her hands around the ancient music stand that’s serving as her podium to steady herself. McDonough is looking at her with a curious expression like he’s genuinely interested in her answer, but she can see the small, smug quirk to his mouth that tells her he’s delighted in having unsettled her. Ellie looks to Eustace, silently asking if she can speak to that statement, hoping she won’t let McDonough get away with just using Tom like that, and Eustace nods in acceptance of Ellie speaking, a frown on her face at the direction this debate has taken.

“Tom—” Ellie’s voice breaks and she has to start again, “Tom always put the good of this city first, even if that meant rushing out to help defend it off-shift, and I am _appalled_ that you would casually throw his name out there as if calling up his ghost might somehow win you brownie points,” Ellie says, deadly iron in her voice, anger thrumming through her veins. “As for Rhett, he’s a member of The Minutemen and had been working for six months to take down the notorious gang The U.P. Deathclaws the night of the jailbreak and subsequent fight that killed Tom. It was a colossal mess, not the least of which was because the DCS was so wholly unprepared for a direct incursion on the city—” Ellie glares at Captain Nitti standing off to the side of the stage and he looks at his boots, “—but any of us that know Rhett personally can attest that he would _never_ knowingly put this city in danger.”

“Then why would he bring a synth to our town? That _is_ bringing danger to us!” a voice from the crowd shouts, different from May, but with the same anger and Eustace sighs, folding up her papers and taking a seat in one of the chairs on stage, apparently giving up on a structured debate. Ellie doesn’t catch who spoke, but the voice is familiar and she thinks it might be Barbara Long’s father so she speaks with care, knowing that he has every right to be angry about synth replacements. 

“I can’t say for sure that Rhett did, but if that is true, then they weren’t a danger to us.” Ellie looks out over the crowd, anger fading. “We should know, first hand, that not every synth is a danger to us, or here to spy on us for the Institute. After all, Nick Valentine is one of our greatest and well-known citizens. And I don’t believe for a second that Nick is the only one of his kind that has and wants nothing to do with the Institute.”

“Well, of course, no one would suspect Mr. Valentine of working for the Institute,” McDonough says, apparently sensing that’s he’s on his back heel now. The crowd has calmed a great deal from Franklin May’s initial outburst and are leaning more towards Ellie’s idea of the situation and explanation than that the Mayor’s. “Especially after everything he’s done for our town, but we must question why The Minutemen would send one of their own to _spy_ on our city. I was under the impression that Mr. Rhett was a merc, so why the deception? And if he lied about that, how can we trust that he truly has the best interests of this city at heart?” There’s a ripple of agreement from the crowd as McDonough regains his footing. Fickle people. “Now, I don’t expect an answer from you, Ms. Perkins, since we can’t be sure that any answer given about such a thing isn’t…biased, or that you aren’t blinded by friendship to this man, but we must question your capability to judge others if such a man _is_ your friend, and even your ability to lead Diamond City.”

Ellie frowns. She should’ve seen where McDonough was going with this particular line of inquiry. 

“Of course, between you and Mr. Valentine, you’d think one of you might’ve seen through Rhett’s deception, especially considering your line of work.” McDonough gives her a sad sort of smile like he’s suggesting that it’s really _too bad_ about the whole situation and how the two of them were ‘fooled’. She’d like to smack that look off his face. “But love is blind, so they say. That is, if a synth _can_ love. But, I suppose that’s neither here nor there.”

Ellie’s anger returns in a rush, twice as hot. “Are you _honestly_ suggesting that Nick isn’t as human as the rest of us? _How dare you,_ ” she growls, voice carrying easily over the hush that has suddenly settled on the crowd. “Nick has lived in this town twice as long as you—” she jabs a finger at McDonough and then looks out to the crowd “—as any of us and he’s always put this city first, looked after its residents when no one else would. 

“How many of you have gotten discounted rates over the years when caps were tight and someone or something had gone missing? Who else goes to Goodneighbour to talk your loved ones into coming home after a chem binge, or asks Mayor Hancock to see them back safe? Who else looks into the cases of missing people that the DCS won’t investigate because that’s ‘out of their hands’. How many of you were lent caps to pay bills or buy food without the expectation of getting it back? But you paid it back, didn’t you? Not always to Nick, but back into this city, paid forward that kindness, that _humanity_ because it feels good to help others, to give back.” Quite a few people look away, seemingly ashamed of their compliance in believing McDonough’s words.

“I’ve put myself up here to be picked apart and scrutinized, to be judged as to whether I’m capable of being your mayor so I will take whatever is slung my way, but if you’re all just gonna to stand there and let our current mayor slyly insult the very best example of us, the _man_ who picked me off the streets of Goodneighbour, gave me a home when I was fourteen and never asked for anything in return for that enormous kindness, —” Ellie starts to tear, but her voice remains sharp and strong, “—then you can gladly keep McDonough as your mayor because I don’t want to represent a city that _ungrateful._ ”

And with that, Ellie sweeps off stage, nothing but the shocked silence of the crowd and the crackling of the barrel fires following her.

When she returns to the quiet of the agency, Ellie begins pacing the length of the office as the weight of what she said starts to make itself known. She starts chanting quietly over and over again, “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” and feeling vaguely sick about her outburst. 

She’s ruined it. She’d let her anger speak for her and she’d ruined her chances of becoming mayor. Now things were going to get worse. People would vote for McDonough because she’d just let them know that she was out of the running, worse things would keep happening in Diamond City from kidnappings to murders, and she’d become a pariah like Piper. Ellie thought she could handle that, she had already lived a life of hardship and hate in Goodneighbour, and while she didn’t relish the idea of going back to something similar (because obviously, Nick would have to let her go) she could do it again. Maybe she could move to Bunker Hill or Quincy. 

Quincy didn’t sound so bad now that she thought about it, The Minutemen are a good group, and Art never had anything bad to say about the place. Ellie has practically talked herself into the logistics of moving of Quincy (where to get the caps, what stuff she should take with her, plans to talk with Art about places to stay in the town…) when Piper bursts through the door of the agency and sweeps her into a hug with a wild laugh. 

“Please, _please_ tell me you remembered to turn the holorecorder on!” Piper says, a grin near cracking her face in half and Ellie nods, stunned, and points to the device sitting her desk where she’d tossed it when she arrived back in the agency. Piper laughs again. “I’m tempted to just publish the entire last half of the debate as a transcript because you said it all so much better than I could, but oh! the glory of writing an article after all this is said and done, full of your quotes, to rub in McDonough’s face is almost too hard to resist.”

“…Good?” Ellie questions, confused.

Piper holds her at arm's length, a look of surprised delight on her face. “You don’t know? Oh God; Ellie!” Then she grabs a hold of Ellie’s hand and drags her upstairs and out the door to the rooftop. They quickly pick their way across the roofs until they’re standing on the outcropping of tin over what’s left of the transient farmer’s camp, and can see the crowd still standing around the stage, only now the focal point isn’t the two lonely, mismatched podiums, but rather Nick. The people have gathered around, pressing close as they shake his hand or clap him on the back and even from this distance she can tell he’s wearing a bemused sort of smile. 

“You did that,” Piper tells her. “You made them remember just how important Nick is to this town, and that his synth status has nothin’ to do with the fact that he’s one of us. McDonough practically fled the stage after you left and they started banding together against him and _for_ Nick. You’re not out of this fight yet, and that’s proof.” 

\- - - - -

Piper insisted that they do a ‘victory lap’ in the Dugout Inn for Ellie’s clear win of the debate. Ellie’s not sure that her anger-driven chastisement of the Diamond City can be classified as a win, but she’s willing to continue her fight to be elected mayor as long as she’s wanted. And as long as Diamond City has an understanding that she won’t take any crap directed at Nick.

The moment she steps in the bar, Vadim declares her drinks on the house, and much like the night before, a large group of people gravitate to their table to congratulate Ellie on her debate, to let her know that they agree with her (or that they don’t but no one gets away with insulting Nick), to ask her to stay in the race even if the rest of Diamond City is ungrateful, or just to offer a few words of encouragement and thanks. Ellie thinks she might actually start to cry if people keep coming up to her and saying these things because she had practically given up on them and was ready to leave before Piper showed her that scene by the stage. 

By the end of the night, it’s standing room only in the bar. There’s a chorus of people singing drunkenly along with the radio, others discussing what they think Ellie’s first order of business will be when she’s elected mayor (without including her in it), Piper has a small crowd gathered around her as she gives a masterful, if exaggerated, performance of Ellie’s appearance at the debate (Nat correcting her if she uses a truly unbelievable turn of phrase), and the rest are talking amongst themselves in smaller groups. The noise in the bar is practically deafening. 

Sometime around midnight, Ellie starts to fade, her lack of a restful night’s sleep finally catching up to her, and Nick pulls her out without anyone noticing them leaving. The cold air startles her awake a bit more and the two of them make their way back to the agency at a sedate pace. 

“Thanks,” Ellie says, looping her arm in his, “I wasn’t sure I’d ever get out of there.”

Nick chuckles. “Used to be pretty good at sneakin’ outta a bar back in the day. Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

Ellie wouldn’t exactly call it sneaking because Nick probably talked to every single person between them and the door, but she won’t deny the effectiveness of it. Everyone saw them walking through the crowd, but no one realized that it was to the door and not to the bar.

“You did good today,” Nick says, voice quietly approving. “Amazing, even. Never seen this town so hung up on anyone’s words.”

“Yeah, well, they weren’t until you were brought up. Diamond City’s own, Nick Valentine. You’re well loved, even if some people say otherwise.”

Nick shakes his head. “No, they were listenin’ long before that. Though, now no one will dare say that around you,” and she sort of laughs. Nick pulls her closer. “I appreciate you sayin’ those things. Bad enough I question my own existence and capabilities sometimes, I don’t need that windbag doin’ it too.”

“We all question those things, so congratulations on being human, but don’t you ever think you’re not capable of love. I see it every day with me and I see it when you look at him.”

“I’m that obvious, huh?” Nick asks with a quiet laugh and kisses the top of her head in a silent thank you.

“Nick, people in Quincy can see it.”

He laughs again and they fall quiet as they finish crossing the market and then start down Third Street. “I’m worried about him,” Nick says after a couple moments. 

“I know.”

“They see that in Quincy too?”

Ellie huffs a breath of laughter. “No, but I can read you like a book, Nick. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me what’s been bothering you about him. You have this look everything time he leaves like… you don’t think you’ll see him again.”

Nick sighs as they turn into the agency’s alcove, and Ellie let’s go of his arm so he can unlock the door. When they get inside, Nick runs a hand over his face and says, “There’s a monster after him, Ellie. A thing I hesitate to even call a man, and I thought I’d destroyed it when we were in Goodneighbour last March, but…” He sits on the edge of Ellie’s desk and folds his arms. “The kid won’t even acknowledge it’s a problem for him, just that it might hurt someone else, which is just like him, and every time I mention it he blows it off. It makes me want to smack him upside the head because _he’s_ the focus point of that things anger not whatever synth it ends up in.” Nick angrily rearranges his hat on his head. “He’s been gone so much this year and I’m…I’m afraid that one of these days that thing’ll catch up to him and I won’t be there. I won’t _be_ there and no one will know it’s him.”

“Oh, Nick…” Ellie says and moves to hug him. She had no idea that it was that bad or that Nick was that worried about Deacon. He’d told her a bit about what had happened in the Memory Loungers with Deacon, not the full spread she knows, but enough to understand that this threat is very serious. “I’ll smack him next time he comes into town, the jerk.”

“You do that; maybe he’ll finally listen.”

Ellie honestly doubts it. Deacon’s got a stubborn streak a mile long, but she’ll do it regardless, if only so that Deacon gets the message that he needs to talk more about the situation with Nick and not flippantly ignore the danger that has Nick so worried about his safety. Not that she expects him to do anything differently after all is said and done. Ellie gives Nick’s cheek a quick kiss and pulls back, a yawn catching her suddenly off guard.

“It’s way past my bedtime, Nick. Sorry to hug and run, but…”

Nick waves her off. “Go. It’s only gonna get busier around here from now until the day of the election. I’ll be fine. Well, as fine as I get these days.”

She squeezes Nick’s arm. “I wish I could promise you he’ll be okay, but we both know that’s impossible. But, if anyone could survive a monster like that, it’d be him.”

“That’s what I keep tellin’ myself, Ellie.”

It’s as busy as Nick predicts the next day and the day after that. If Ellie and Nick weren’t the focal points of this election before, they certainly are now. Time seems to fly as Ellie is often caught in the market on her way to get coffee by people who want to hear more about her proposed changes and platform. She buys people coffee to sit with her in Francine’s bakery and finds an endless stream of people coming by to talk. Sometime during the day, she moves to the Dugout Inn or to Power Noodles for lunch and the entire cycle will start again. 

McDonough moves in a similar fashion through the market and then up to the Colonial Taphouse in the Upperstands. Part of her wants to crow in victory because the number of people talking with him about a second term isn't nearly as large as the numbers talking with her, but Piper’s warning about Lowerfielders ultimately voting with what the Upperstanders want keeps her from getting too smug about the whole thing. Somehow, she has to break into that group and route McDonough’s support, but how she doesn’t know. Piper may understand that Lowerfielders and Upperstanders have a love-hate relationship and a clear interconnectedness, but she doesn’t know how to get Ellie in with them.

Ultimately, it isn’t Piper who helps with the situation.

Two days before the election, Nick comes to her at Takahashi’s and extracts her from the small group of people she’s speaking with. She apologizes and follows him back to the agency with a smile that fades the moment they’re out of the market. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, keeping her voice low.

“You got a visitor,” Nick replies and that’s the only things he tells her. When they arrive back in the agency, Ellie understands why. Sitting in their client chair is Malcolm Latimer. Ellie’s eyebrows raise and Nick leaves her with a, “He wants to speak with you alone,” closing the door with a soft click behind him.

Latimer turns slightly in the chair, “Please join me, Ms. Perkins.”

Ellie walks around to take a seat in her desk, a wary sort of expression on her face. “Afternoon, Mr. Latimer. Can I do something for you?”

“Actually, I’m here to do something for you. With, of course, the expectation of something in return.”

“And what might that be?”

Latimer smiles at her. “Give you the election.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. “I'm not interested in backroom deals.”

“It's hardly that, but if your campaign advisor is worth her salt then you know that even with your soaring support among the Lowerfielders you won't win without us. You need someone to speak on your behalf to the Upperstanders, who isn’t the darling of the Lowerfielders, and quell their fears of your coming revolution. I propose to be that voice.”

“Why?”

Latimer crosses his legs. “Because there's enough displeasure with the current policies that all that’s needed is a few assurances and I believe that you'll do more for our city's prosperity than McDonough has in the last couple of years.” 

“No. I know what I'll do for the city. I don't need you to parrot it back to me. What I want to know is what’s in this for you?”

“Why caps, of course. You know the moronic trade tariffs that have recently implemented are crushing commerce in this city. They’ve been especially hurting the O’Malleys and the Salzers, not to mention what it's doing to the market businesses.” Latimer gestures with his hand, dismissing the topic as he says, “There are a number of other things that I won't bore you with until you're in office, but sufficed to say McDonough has been actively working against the city's interests and it’s frankly pissing us off.”

“Your interests, you mean.” 

“Ms. Perkins our interests are Diamond City's interests. Don't imagine that we exist in some separate bubble and that things that happen to this city are beneath us or don’t affect us. Yes, Upperstanders and Lowerfielders exist in different sections of the city, and with good reason, but we aren't separate in our desire to see Diamond City prosper and be the most powerful and successful settlement in the Commonwealth. Most of us agree with the changes you propose, though there is some contention on certain topics, but again, that’s something to discuss further when you’re in office.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, considering Latimer’s words. “So…what? You’ll just mosey on back to your fellows and suggest that I’m the right candidate for the job?” Latimer nods. “If I really am good for both sides, then why not just tell them to vote for me? Why this visit? This game? If I’ll honestly benefit everyone, why do you need to a) convince your peers and b) ask for a favour in return.”

“Because the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.” Latimer gives her another smile. “We already know how to sway McDonough one way or another, but you’re an unknown. We can’t be sure you’ll work with us, and as much as we’re frustrated with McDonough as of late, we don’t want to put our support behind someone who’ll work against us. You need my help with gathering Upperstander votes, and I’m due something in return for that aid.”

Ellie thinks about what agreeing to Latimer’s proposal might mean for her, for her possible future term as mayor. She wants to know what kind favour Latimer might ask of her, but if she asks about it, that’ll give the impression that she’s seriously considering his getting his help and though she might be giving it an honest thought, Ellie isn’t sure she’d ready to make that commitment. It feels a little bit too much like selling out. Then, she remembers Piper’s picture.

“Have you donated to McDonough’s campaign?”

Latimer raises an eyebrow at her sudden change of topic. “If what you’re asking is whether I’m playing both sides of this election, the answer is that I always play both sides until one clearly benefits me more than the other.”

Apparently, she’s the better bet. That’s oddly comforting.

“So, you have then?”

“Are you looking for money?”

Ellie wrinkles her face in disgust. “No. I have a photo of Joey Gallo handing caps to Captain Nitti. Possibly a bribe for the Captain, possibly an underhanded donation to McDonough.”

“What Joseph gets up to in his own time is out of my hands,” Latimer replies, washing his hands of any implication. “You could try to arrest him with such evidence, but considering the second party in the photo, I can’t imagine what good that’ll do.”

“I already know that you bribe Nitti to keep Nelson out of jail and likely had a hand in that other thing. I only bring it up because I’m not about to bought, so don’t think I’m like Nitti or McDonough and that I’ll just forget my morals or standards for a few hundred caps.”

“I wouldn’t judge the Captain too harshly, Ms. Perkins,” he says, not bothering to deny paying Nitti to keep Nelson on the streets. “Rest assured, I have no plans to flash caps in your direction. I know it would be a waste of my time, but I also know you can be reasoned with and our desires aren’t so different. Don’t think of us as enemies, we aren’t, but compromises must be made for success.”

“On both sides.”

Latimer nods again and Ellie feels a bit of tension bleed from her shoulders. She shouldn’t think so poorly of Latimer, he’s never done anything against Diamond City, and though she hardly agrees with his business of selling chems, Ellie also knows that there a couple businesses in the market that wouldn’t exist without him lending start-up caps. Malcolm Latimer is no paragon of virtue, but he’s also not the bad guy she needs to focus on defeating. If she’s going to be mayor, then she needs to set aside personal feelings and deal with the facts, and the fact is, she needs Latimer’s support to get the Upperstander vote.

“What might this favour I’d owe you look like?”

Latimer leans back in his chair, a look of victory sliding across his face for a moment before he says, “At this time, I don’t know. Whatever it might eventually look like, it’ll be something of equal value to ensuring you win this mayoral election.”

“I won’t help you harm anyone.”

“That’s a broad statement, isn’t it? There are people in this world that could use a little harm, but if that’s your condition, I agree. Shall we shake on it?” Ellie frowns slightly in hesitation. “I assure you that I’m a man of my word, just as you are a woman of yours.”

She considers a moment longer before she says, “Alright” and stands, meeting Latimer to shake his hand. 

“I’ll get started right away, Your Worship,” Latimer tells her after gives her a hand a firm shake and then leaves her alone in the agency, staring at the door and wondering how badly Piper will freak when she tells her. Nick enters a moment later with a questioning look on his face and Ellie tells him to sit down so she can explain.

He takes the news of her alliance with Latimer well enough. All he says on the topic is, “I figured.” To be honest, she sort of wants Nick to tell her that this is a wildly bad idea and to back out before things get too deep and she can’t, but he just gives her a fortifying hug and sends her back out into the fray. Ellie wonders if this is Deacon’s influence on him. She can’t imagine he would’ve been so accepting of such a thing before ‘Rhett’ stumbled into their lives. 

Piper is much less…reasonable about the whole thing. There’s much yelling and “what were you thinking?” and a general feeling of _‘I can’t believe you did this without talking to me!’._ Piper has every reason to be upset about this turn of events, and Ellie does her best to placate Piper’s fears. Fears that Ellie herself shares and just saying that seems to help Piper calm down. Her biggest fear is apparently that Ellie might not have understood how many spectacularly messed up ways this whole thing could go wrong.

Piper sighs. “I don’t trust Latimer to not have second _and_ third motivations in regards to helpin’ you with the Upperstanders, but I can’t do it in his stead, so…”

“That’s why I have you. You’re a reporter-spy extraordinaire. If anyone can figure out a way to keep me from getting manipulated, it’s you,” and Piper gives her a grim nod of determination in return. Woe to any Upperstander that tries to get in Piper Wright’s way.

That night, Latimer sends a note and invites Ellie to the Colonial Taphouse for drinks and Piper gives her a crash course in the five families. Not that Ellie didn’t already have an idea of who’s who and what they did, but Piper’s knowledge far outstrips Ellie’s own. Obviously, the invitation is about properly introducing her to the five Upperstander families that hold sway over the outcome of the election. Ellie puts on her best dress (the one that she wore to the debate and she feels a pang of misery over Charlie’s disappearance) and styles her hair in a quick rope crown braid that seems infinitely more work than it actually is.

When she arrives in the bar there’s group of tables pushed together, full of the Upperstander families, with only one chair vacant in the middle. All eyes turn to her when she arrives and Ellie tries for her best smile despite feeling a bit like a brahmin to slaughter. At the tables, there are Mr. and Mrs. Codman, who own a large brahmin farm to the west of the city and provide meat to half the Commonwealth; the O’Malley sisters who run O’Malley Caravans, one of the most successful caravans for three states; then there’s Mr. and Mr. Salzer who don’t own anything in particular, but dabble in a bit of everything, from investments in caravans to shops, and mercs all across the ‘Wealth; Eustace and Jake Hawthorne are seated to Ellie’s right and she’s grateful for their friendly presence (the Hawthornes own most of the rental property in Diamond City); and lastly there are both Latimers, though Nelson is looking incredibly annoyed at having to be present.

The evening opens with drinks and is followed by an excellent supper (Ellie will have to tell Vadim to up his game because Wellingham’s cooking is beating his by a long mile), during which everything is talked about _except_ what Ellie is actually here for. There’s talk of caravans and trading prices of goods (from meat to ammo), about the encroachment of Gunners in Quincy (the Salzers don’t have a share in that merc outfit much to their annoyance), the decrease in raider attacks as of late, Triggermen trying to undersell Latimer and Marowski (she can’t help but tense slightly as the Triggermen are brought up, but the topic passes after a few minutes), Goodneighbour’s resurgence into the land of economic prosperity, and Bunker Hill successful coaxing caravans to their town instead of Diamond City because of the tariffs. 

Through it all, Ellie feels like she holds her own on the topics, after all, many of them directly coincide with points in her platform, but she’ll admit that on some things her knowledge is lacking because she didn’t know _to_ ask or that there were even issues. Maybe, that’s the point of this, to make sure that if she is going to be mayor, that she has some idea of the problems she plans to tackle and isn’t going into this gig blind. 

There’s a little too much smug elitism for Ellie’s liking (but it gets her thinking about ways to try and bridge the gap between the two), and Ann Codman get’s entirely too drunk and calls Piper a “muck-racking slattern,” and that has Ellie scowling but not retorting —she must save the truly flaying remarks for _after_ the election— but surprisingly, Geraldine O’Malley says, “Shut your fuckin’ mouth, Ann. Ya don’t have’ta like the woman, but at least appreciate fire with which she does her work,” and Suzanna O’Malley adds, “And if you’re gonna insult her, at least be more creative than another whore curse. Who and how she fucks is none’a our business.” The comments leave Ann sputtering in outrage before Codman pulls her from the bar with a cordial good night to everyone and Ellie thinks that maybe it won’t be such an uphill battle with these people after all.

Ellie says her own good nights not long after that when it becomes clear that her ‘interview’ is over and the remaining families are more interested in talking within smaller groups than in a manner that will allow Ellie to be a part of it. As she passes by the DCS guard on watch at the top of the ramp that leads back down to the market, Ellie gets the feeling that she’s being carefully watched tonight and that somehow McDonough isn’t about to let her apparent routing of the Upperstander support go unchallenged. 

\- - - - -

The next day passes in a blur of final campaigning. Both her and McDonough are out on the streets all day long, talking with people. She barely has time for lunch as she moves from business to business, house to house, Dugout Inn to Colonial Taphouse, in an effort to speak, be seen, and hear one last time the sorts of hesitations people might have about voting for her and allay them as best she can. McDonough is much better at spinning rhetoric than she is, and Ellie wonders, not for the first time, her directness is working against her. She’s not one to prevaricate when the simple truth will do, but if Piper’s paper is any indication, there are plenty of people in this town that want that easy lie instead of the hard truth.

Ellie does her best to keep pace with McDonough throughout the day, but as the sun sets and night falls on the Commonwealth, she starts to flag. There’s something utterly inhuman about the amount of energy McDonough seems to have despite the early starts that have punctuated this last couple of weeks, and her worried-filled and interrupted sleeps have decided to catch up with her at worst possible time. Sometime around midnight, the yawns won’t stop for any length of time and Nick has to pull her out of the bar once again. 

“Maybe if I just made a cup of coffee at the agency?” Ellie says as they head out into the quiet street. “Or ten?”

Nick laughs. “You’re done, Ellie. This thing is already decided one way or another, and you fallin’ asleep at the bar will only invite an opportunity for rumours.”

“But what if I’m missing out on the opportunit—” a yawn cuts her off mid-sentence and Nick wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“You’re done,” he repeats and half-drags her into the market.

From inside the little trailer that serves to house Piper’s main printing press, they hear a chorus of swears and then the sound of someone hitting the floor. Instinctively they move closer and Ellie calls out after Piper. Her face peers around the side of the press, cheeks flushed from the cold and hat askew. 

“What time is it?” Piper asks, looking at the two of them critically. 

“After midnight,” Nick replies as they stand on the trailer’s stoop. 

“That late already? Jeez. Stupid thing…” she mutters and kicks the press’s foot, clutching her one hand with the other.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Ellie asks and moves around to Piper’s side.

“It’s nothing. I just scraped my knuckles trying to get this jam cleared.” Piper kicks the press again in frustration and then blows out an annoyed huff of air. Ellie takes Piper’s hands and pulls them apart to get a look at the damage. It’s bloody and not pleasant to look at but hardly life threatening. Probably stings, though, and Ellie pulls out her handkerchief and wraps Piper’s hand to help stop the bleeding.

Nick moves to crouch next to Piper’s other side. “Maybe I can help.”

“Be my guest,” Piper says and moves away, gesturing to where a group of papers is bunched up between the rollers. Nick grabs the one paper sticking out that Piper had clearly been tugging on, judging by the ripped section and the blood on the frame next to it. Nick yanks on the paper a few times, only managing to rip it into smaller and smaller pieces. The rest of the papers are crunched and tucked out of reach. Piper sighs. “I’m gonna have to take the roller off. Damnit.”

“You want help with that?” Nick asks.

“Yeah. They’re heavy and easier to put back in with two people. Unless you got somewhere to be?” Piper looks between the two of them.

“She’s goin’ to bed,” Nick replies, “but I can stay.”

“I’m fine,” Ellie protests. “Piper’s hand is injured, I can help you take the roller off.”

Nick shakes his head. “There’s gonna be a helluva party tomorrow, and you need your rest otherwise you’re liable to fall asleep durin’ it. Go.” He waves her off. “Won’t take more than twenty minutes I’m sure. You probably won’t even hear me return.”

“I’m not crippled,” Piper adds flexing her injured hand slightly. “Worked with worse injuries than this.”

Ellie huffs and rolls her eyes, giving in. “Fine. I’ll go. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

“Ellie…” Nick says, laughter in his voice.

“No, no. I get it. Wouldn’t want to get grease on my dress, anyways,” Ellie sniffs and Piper laughs. Then she stands, flashing the two of the a tired a smile and heads out. 

It doesn’t take long for Ellie to cross the market to Third Street, the sounds of Nick and Piper’s voices fading the further she gets away from the Publick. As she rounds the corner of the street, Ellie gives the neon ‘DETECTIVE’ sign a sad sort of look. By this time tomorrow she could be mayor, and then it won’t be Nick and Ellie anymore. It’ll just be Nick. And eventually, it’ll be Nick and someone else. As much as she wants this new adventure, she’s sad at the possibility of leaving the old one behind. She slides one hand along the sign’s frame in a goodbye of sorts and then continues down the street. 

As she reaches the agency’s alcove, Ellie pauses slightly as she notes that the lightbulb near the door has burnt out. She starts fishing for her keys by the light of the neon sign and wonders vaguely if they have any fresh bulbs left or if she’ll have to talk to Percy tomorrow about news ones. Just as she gets her keys free of the mess of papers in her pockets, a voice behind her startles her.

“Ms. Perkins.”

Ellie turns and feels a moment’s relief when she catches Captain Nitti’s face in the light of the neon, but it quickly morphs into icy fear when she notices the handgun pointed at her gut. 

“Get into the alcove,” he tells her. “Quietly,” and Ellie nods, stumbling backward a step, heel catching awkwardly on the wooden planks of the street. She puts her hand on the concrete blocks of the alcove to steady herself, hoping desperately that Nick’ll turn the corner of the street any moment now and yet knowing that he won’t.

“Don’t move,” another voice growls and Nitti stops, turning to look behind himself when the something sharp is jabbed into the back of his neck, forcing him forward again. A man materializes behind Nitti, suddenly appearing where there was nothing but shadows before. “Drop the gun pal,” he tells Nitti but the Captain hesitates. “Do it or I’ll put a slug of plasma into the back of your neck and before you lose all sensation and control of your body due to the plasma eating away your spinal column, you’ll be in agonizing pain.”

Nitti drops the gun, hands coming up in surrender and Ellie feels like crying in relief, she’s recognizes the voice (though she’s never heard it quite so hard before), even if the face is different from what it was scarcely a week ago, _Deacon._ Fleetingly, she thinks that she just saw that grey toque, not ten minutes ago.

Deacon manhandles Nitti away from Ellie, shoving him out into the street proper as he places himself between her and the Captain. “Let me tell ya something, pal, if we were anywhere else, you’d be dead. You try something like that again, you will be.”

Captain Nitti looks at them, and instead of anger, or frustration, or even fear, there’s a look of resignation on his face. “Just do it,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper. “Put me out of my misery.”

Ellie can feel the way Deacon is mentally back-peddling, trying to discover if he’s interpreted the situation wrong, and Ellie recalls the off-hand comment Latimer made about Nitti. She puts a hand on the arm that’s holding Deacon’s plasma pistol and he lowers it slightly. “I think you’d better come inside and explain, Captain,” she says harshly, not waiting for an answer as she turns and unlocks the agency’s door. The key held so tightly in her hand moments before that it shakes as she tries to get it work in the gloom of the lightless alcove. 

Deacon waits for Ellie to get fully inside the agency before he allows Nitti to follow her, pistol trained on his back. He pushes Nitti into the client chair and moves to stand next to Ellie’s. She folds her hands in her lap, trying to keep the way they’ve both taken to shaking with excess adrenaline out of the line of sight of Nitti. 

“Why did you come here tonight?” Ellie demands.

“To threaten, but _not_ kill you,” Nitti replies calmly.

“Into dropping out of the race?” Nitti nods in confirmation. “McDonough?”

Nitti nods again. “I don’t think you understand what sorta repercussions he faces if you beat him tomorrow.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Ellie snaps. “I doubt the Institute will be happy with him.”

Nitti’s eyes widen in surprise. “You know?”

“Didn’t. Not for sure until you confirmed it,” Deacon replies with a scowl. “You workin’ with those sonuvabitches too?”

“Yes. Against my will, but…yes.” Nitti’s looks down at his boots. “I’m…I’m a replacement and if I don’t do what they want, they’ll wipe me. I’d rather _die_ than go back to being some…mindless husk.”

Deacon’s scowl softens somewhat and Ellie sighs. 

“Forgive me,” Nitti says looking up at her. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, or even really threaten you. Just give a good show. I’d rather you win.”

“A show for who?” Ellie asks.

“Who do you think? McDonough might think he’s special enough to be given free reign over Diamond City, but there are others, watching and reporting.” Nitti shakes his head. “They aren’t even necessarily synths, just greedy, desperate.”

“Who?” Deacon asks, but Nitti shakes his head. 

“Don’t know for sure.”

“What about Charlie Fallon?” Ellie demands.

“I had nothin’ to do with that,” Nitti replies as he sits forward in the chair, something like anger on his face. Deacon’s pistol comes up sharply and Nitti settles back with his hands raised. “I can’t believe that asshole would just…call down a Courser strike like that. Fuck.”

“Is he okay?”

Nitti shrugs. “Don’t know that either. Don’t even know why they would want him.”

“Scare tactic,” Deacon says and lowers his pistol slightly again. Nitti makes a noise of agreement. “Not that you could tell us if you knew, right?”

“Look, I would tell you everything if I could, but they don’t let us.” Nitti taps his temple. “Some sort of security protocol. You don’t know how long I’ve been trying to say somethin’ about him that won’t get me killed for being one’a them.”

Ellie opens her mouth to speak, but Deacon gets there first. “Well, it’s a good sob story, specially designed to garner our sympathy, but I don’t believe it.” Ellie looks at Deacon and the frown etched into his face. “From where I’m standin’, you’d’ve killed her if I hadn’t shown up and have come up with a tale just likely enough to be believed. Either to get our guard down enough to try it again at a later date—”

“No! I wouldn’t. I _didn’t._ It’s not like that—”

Deacon talks over him, “—or act as a double agent, keeping your original loyalties.”

Nitti gets an angry look on his face and stares at Ellie. “So, for all your talk about dealin’ fairly with synths, you’re just another hypocrite.”

“Not five fucking minutes ago, you pointed a gun at Ellie for McDonough’s sake,” Deacon snaps “ _That_ makes you an untrustworthy prick, not your insides.” Ellie puts a hand on Deacon’s arm to quiet his anger. 

“He’s right, Captain. We can’t trust you,” Ellie says watching Nitti’s face slump in resignation, “but if you want to earn trust, I’d be willing to let you.”

“…How?”

Ellie sighs. “I don’t know and right now, I’m too tired to deal with this. I think for now it’s best that you leave and don’t do or say anything that might get you into trouble and I’ll do the same.”

Nitti looks between the two of them and after a moment nods in agreement. Then he stands and heads for the door. Deacon tracks his movements with wary eyes and his pistol comes up again when Nitti pauses at the door. “I have a daughter,” he starts looking back at them, “ _he_ has a daughter. She’s the reason that I…” He shakes his head like he’s trying to reorganize his thoughts. After a moment, he starts again. “We pat ourselves on the back for being so much better than you; as if the misery _we_ cause is somehow your own fault. _She’s_ the reason I know that’s not true.” 

Once Nitti is gone, Deacon moves to turn the deadbolt, and only after the door is locked does he holster his plasma pistol. She gives him a tired smile. 

“I’m moving up in the world. My first assassination attempt; how lucky am I?” Ellie asks with as much levity as she can muster trying to get rid of that black look of despair on Deacon’s face. After a moment he smiles, clearing the look as best he can but, Ellie can see the remains of it in his eyes —his sunglasses hanging on the collar of his jacket.

“Only two more and you’ll be on par with Piper,” he agrees and takes the chair that Nitti vacated. 

“When did you get back? How did know…?”

“Arrived a few hours ago, and was chillin’ in the Dugout. Figured you wouldn’t recognize me so I watched you work your magic.” He gives her another smile, warmer this time. “When you and Nick left, I followed, meanin’ to surprise you, but I wasn’t the only shadow you had.” Deacon shrugs as if to say, _‘And you know the rest.’_ “He was damn quiet. If he hadn’t told us he was a synth, I woulda suspected. Shoulda seen it, though. How did I miss him?” He mutters this last bit in personal castigation.

“I don’t think anyone suspected, not even Piper and the two of them have a bit of a contentious relationship.”

“Yeah, but it’s my job to suspect and I didn’t.”

“Nitti’s been a good captain. Anything that ties the DCS’s hands seems to come from McDonough, rather than him, so maybe that’s why.” Deacon raises an eyebrow in question and Ellie elaborates. “Because you were looking for people who had it out for us, and Nitti doesn’t.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“No, but he’s never struck me as a man who lies.”

Deacon snorts. “Except about the big stuff.”

“I wouldn’t talk, kettle.”

“I’m a known liar. There’s a difference.”

Ellie rolls her eyes but is too tired to argue. Instead, she stands from her desk and says, “Let’s wait until tomorrow to tell Nick.”

“Just as long as he knows that’s your idea.”

“Yes,” Ellie agrees with a soft laugh, “I’ll take the blame.” She moves to Deacon’s side and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Deacon grabs her hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “Anytime. Just don’t make it all the time.”

“I certainly hope not.”

Ellie’s too tired for most of her nightly rituals and so she’s in bed and half-asleep when she hears the door open and Nick arrive with a quiet noise of happiness to find Deacon waiting for him in the agency. As she drifts off to sleep, for good this time, it’s to the indistinct sound of their hushed voices.

In the morning, Ellie lies in bed listening to the quiet, to the creaking of the tin roof in the slight wind, to the faint rustle of fabric from Nick’s bed below. It’s early. Too early really, but her excitement and nervousness about this day are preventing her from getting any more sleep. After a time, she grabs her pocket watch off the nightstand and checks its face, the hands proclaim it to be a little after 6:45 a.m. She looks at the engraving on the lid and draws some solace from it before she quietly clicks it closed.

Ellie lays in bed for a few minutes more and then she pulls herself up and out of it. In her fuzzy recollection of last night, she thinks that she heard Deacon using the shower and she decides to follow suit. Today is another one of those days like the debate where she needs to be as clean and polished as possible. Grabbing her dressing gown and swinging it on, Ellie picks up some towels and heads down to the shower. Nick gives her a smile in greeting from where he’s propped against the headboard reading. Deacon is pressed against the cool concrete wall beside him and fast asleep. It’s bad enough that the stress of this election is messing with her own sleep cycle as of late, she can’t imagine what it must be like to live that reality constantly. She wishes, for his own sake, that Deacon would stop by more often and stay longer than a day at a time.

Ellie sets the towels on the stairs within easy reach of the shower and steps into the stall, tossing her dressing down out through the drawn the curtain. The water is a little cooler than usual and she thinks about checking the temperature of the space heat on the roof and about whether the tank has been filled lately. Ellie quickly washes her hair, the soap sluicing down her body and then check her legs. Should she shave? After a moment, she decides that she has the time and switches off the water to deal with that. When she’s done, Ellie rinses off and then grabs the towels on the stairs with one arm peeking through the curtain.

She dries off as best she can in the stall, wrapping one towel around her wet hair. Outside, Nick quietly tells her that his eyes are covered and she hops out of the shower to grab her dressing down. Once it’s securely wrapped around her again, Ellie moves to gingerly sit at the foot of Nick’s bed, basking in what could be one of the last times she spends a quiet morning with Nick. 

He closes his book and sets it down on the floor, “Big day is here,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah.” Ellie has the first fluttering of butterflies in her stomach —whatever Old-World creatures those were.

“I’m gonna miss you bein’ here, ya know.”

“Me too.” She takes a breath and then lets it out in a sigh somewhere between sad and anxious about the outcome of the day. “Of course, it’ll take a couple week to finalize everything, move and what not. If I even win, that is.”

“I have no doubt,” Nick assures her.

She half-smiles at him. “At least one of us doesn’t.”

“I believe it,” Deacon mumbles from his pillow, voice barely audible. Ellie frowns slightly, she hadn’t meant to wake him. 

“He’s been half-awake for the last half-hour,” Nick tells her to let her know that she needn’t feel guilty and then stands from the bed. “I’ll get coffee.”

“Thanks. And see if Piper’s awake, will you? I got something I need to tell you and she should hear it too.”

Nick raises an eyebrow at her, expression dipping into concerned, but Ellies waves him off. “Coffee first.” After a moment, Nick nods and leaves. Deacon peers at her from under a mess of hair and blankets. “How long will that take him?” he asks. 

Ellie shrugs. “Ten minutes or so.”

He snuggles deeper into the bed. “Give me five more minutes, then prod me. I should go get Arturo.”

Ellie hums in agreement and gives into the urge to smooth his frizzy curls. Deacon pretends to purr like a cat and it startles laughter out of her, it feels like an age since she laughed like that. He chuckles lazily and she leaves him to lounge in bed for his requisite five minutes with a smile and a shake of her head as she heads upstairs to get dressed. 

Piper whirls into the agency roughly ten minutes later looking like she’s already had three cups of coffee and two cigarettes, and is carrying a copy of her latest edition, clearly outlining both Ellie’s and McDonough’s platforms and campaign promises. There’s not a single hint of partisanship in the paper and Ellie is impressed. She wondered just how many times Piper had to delete a snarky comment here or there and stick to the facts. Not that she believes Piper incapable of such a thing, the opposite, in fact, Piper is just as good at opinion pieces as she is about straight fact reporting, but being Ellie’s campaign manager has clearly put her one side of this election and she knows that sometimes it’s hard not to get caught up in the rhetoric.

Of course, the first thing Piper says is, “I already have the article written for your win. And as much as I personally dislike Latimer, you’re support among the Upperstander has soared!” She collapses in the client chair, elbows resting on Ellie’s desk. “Obviously, I also have a draft of McDonough’s win, don’t want to be unprepared, but I look forward to deleting it.” Piper grins.

Arturo chuckles from where’s he’s seated on Nick’s desk next to Deacon, and Nick pulls out his chair to sit in once he’s given out the mugs of coffee. “So, what is this thing you gotta tell me?” he asks.

Ellie and Deacon share a brief look before gestures for her to tell the story, and she explains what happened last night with Captain Nitti. There are noises of shock and outrage all around, and Nick gives Deacon’s knee a squeeze without taking his eyes off her. 

“I can’t believe that sonuvabitch!” Piper exclaims and rises from her chair, pacing a small strip in front of Ellie’s desk. “That coward! I’m going to tear him apart. When you’re mayor, I’m going to tear McDonough apart. People in this town think _I’m_ a pariah? Oohoo, when I’m done with him, he’ll _wish_ he was popular as me.”

“Not sure McDonough is the one we need to worry about when Ellie’s mayor,” Nick says, frown firmly etched on his face.

“If Nitti felt comfortable enough to admit to Deacon and you that he was a synth, gotta wonder just how much he knows about our presence in town,” Arturo adds. 

“And how much of that has made it back to the Institute,” Deacon agrees.

“He could be telling the truth,” Ellie says, “That he doesn’t want to help McDonough or the Institute any longer.”

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t feeding them information,” Deacon says. “Or that he isn’t incredibly dangerous, through his own free will, or because the Institute drags intel out of him.”

“The same could be said of Nick,” Ellie replies and gives him a slightly apologetic look; Nick waves her off. “Or any one of us. If Nitti’s a replacement, then how many others are in this city?”

“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” Arturo says, “What do we know about him?” and all eyes turn to Piper. Her pacing comes to an abrupt halt and she throws herself into the client chair with a huff.

“Well, McDonough made Nitti captain a little under a year after he was first elected. Nitti isn’t a native of Diamond City, he was a caravanner originally, from the Mid-West I think. Don’t know why McDonough thought that would translate into captain material, but I guess it was about their mutual friend.”

“That suggests that Nitti was a replacement before he arrived in DC, not after,” Deacon notes and Piper shrugs. 

“He has the bearing of a merc,” Arturo says. “Maybe he was a guard before he made the transition to caravanner.”

“Or maybe the Institute gave him trainin’,” Nick says.

“I think I wrote a piece about him becomin’ Captain,” Piper says, “I’d have to dig through my holotapes to find it, though. Not sure what kind of info it might have because I had no idea he had a kid.”

“Well, technically not him,” Arturo says.

“If he has Nitti’s memories then he’s as good as Nitti, replacement or not,” Deacon says, “Though, yeah, biologically, not. Look, I don’t advise trusting him with anything. Even if you think he might be trustworthy, and he may well be, he’s an Institute agent and if he goes rogue, they won’t hesitate in reclaiming him and any information he knows.”

The group falls silent and Ellie looks at them, considering. “Maybe, we’re looking at this the wrong way,” she says eventually. “Maybe instead of worrying about what he knows or does, I should simply ask him to step down and find another Captain. I mean, if he’s serious about not wanting to help the Institute, maybe he’s looking for a way out. He did say that he’s been trying to out McDonough as an Institute spy and just hasn’t found the way to do it without getting lynched.” She looks at Arturo and Deacon. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? Help synths?”. 

Arturo nods, but Deacon says, “And if he doesn’t want to step down?”

“Then he’s probably not on our side,” Ellie replies. “And we know not to trust him.”

“I could try and track down his daughter if she’s still alive,” Nick says. “That might be motivation for him to leave the city if he’s hesitant about steppin’ down. You’d still have to find a replacement, though, and if the Institute gets wind of you shuffling him out, they’ll probably send someone in his place.”

“So, don’t tell him,” Piper says. “Keep it under wraps until the last moment when you have someone to take his place. I could probably come up with a good cover story about why he had to leave, and if you find his daughter, Nick, it won’t even have to be an entire fabrication.”

“That still leaves the question of what to do in the meantime,” Deacon says.

“In the meantime, I find something for him to do for us that will earn him trust. Just gotta think of what that might be.”

They break up not long after that, Arturo going home to finish his morning routine and ready Nina for school and Piper leaving to do something similar, though Ellie knows that Nat usually manages that task on her own. Deacon complains about being hungry as Ellie starts on her hair (after several large gulps of her cooling coffee), and skips out to get some breakfast. Through some unspoken agreement, Nick stays behind and Ellie is both irritated by that and grateful. 

“You shoulda said something last night,” Nick tells her after a bit of quiet. 

“What? And make you feel guilty for helping Piper?” Ellie flicks her eyes to Nick’s reflection in her mirror and then goes back to focusing on pinning her hair. “I’m okay, Deacon was there.”

“He won’t always be, though.”

“No and it isn’t his responsibility, anyways. Once the election is over, I doubt McDonough will try anything else.”

Nick raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “That’ll be the time to strike, Ellie. It’d send the city into chaos.” 

Ellie frowns, seeing Nick’s point. She didn’t sign up for assassination plots. “Maybe that’s how we’ll use Nitti, then: have him convince his masters that me being mayor is advantageous.”

Nick makes a noise of agreement and then says, “You need a bodyguard.”

“And show the entire city that it isn’t safe?”

“It isn’t.”

Ellie shakes her head, turning from her mirror completely to face Nick. “That’s a weakness we can’t afford to show. Besides, there are DCS guards who watch the office to make sure nothing gets vandalized. I’ll pick a few of Tom’s old friends to for the watch, I’m sure they’d readily agree to that.”

Nick sighs and nods, understanding that he isn’t going to convince her otherwise. Deacon returns shortly after that, bearing some sweet bread with tarberry jam and chatters about the situation in Quincy while Ellie finishes her hair. Her and McDonough will open the polls by casting the first ballots at 10 o’clock so her hair should be finished drying in time for that. 

\- - - - -

Piper’s camera flashes as Ellie and McDonough slide their ballots home, smiling as Eustace Hawthorne declares voting officially open.

\- - - - -

Ellie stands ridged on the stage as the whole of Diamond City mills around it waiting for the results of the election, the barrel fires speckled through the crowd are bright spots of light in the gathering dark. She has a smile plastered on her face that feels like it’ll get stuck if she has to hold it up any longer. She wishes she could move, or fidget, or do _something_ to ease the anxiousness that has settled in her stomach since she first cast her ballot. Instead, she pretends to be at ease and looking like she’s casually waiting for the results to be counted when she’s anything but. 

A few feet away, McDonough looks much the same as her, nodding to a few people in the crowd and maintaining that campaign persona until the end. 

Nick and Deacon are standing at the edge of the stage closest to her and are trying to get to smile for real, but her face just doesn’t want to cooperate even though the expression currently on it must make her look like a loon.

Behind her, in the stands, the Upperstanders are seated, patiently waiting and talking quietly among themselves. They wouldn’t be caught dead standing in the crowd at the foot of the stage, well save for Jake Hawthorne who is currently talking with wide expressive movements of his hands and arms to a very interested looking Piper. She’s probably looking for her next story and Jake’s exploits outside the city might provide her with a whiff of something to investigate. Arturo is shooting frowns at them every couple of minutes that are both adorable and annoying —he could’ve been the focus of her attention if he made a different choice. 

Off to the side, Diamond City’s kids are busy playing in the playground, their sounds of yells and laughter just carrying over the low din of the talking crowd. Nina and Nat are furiously pushing the merry-go-round with about five other kids on it, desperately trying to either make them sick or fly off. Ellie guesses that both would be preferable. 

Then, there’s movement and voices talking lowly directly behind Ellie. Myrna and Suzanna O’Malley are set up at a table at the back of the stage counting the ballots as tradition dictates —one Lowerfielder and one Upperstander. Eustace is quietly speaking with them and Ellie feels dread settle in her stomach. She knows, just _knows_ that she’s lost, with a certainty she can’t explain. She chokes up a bit because she had so _wanted_ the chance, but she takes a deep breath and pushes tightness away. She can cry later, in the comfort of her bed, but right now she must focus on being graceful and cordial in her loss.

Suzanna O’Malley hops off the stage and heads for the temporary stair access to the stands where the Upperstanders are sitting as Eustace turns and heads for the front of the stage to address the crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have finally finished counting and the results are in.” Her voice carries easily over the sudden hush of the crowd, the cold air making it sharp and clear. “With a very distinct lead of 146 to 92, Ms. Ellie Perkins has been elected your new mayor of Diamond City.” 

The moment Ellie’s name is spoken, the crowd erupts into loud cheering and the rest of Eustace’s words are lost in the noise. Her plastered smile finally falls, shock taking over instead. She won? _She won?!_ Ellie feels a little wobbly and just as she thinks about finding a chair somewhere to sit down, Nick gives Deacon a hand up to the stage’s platform and he pulls Ellie into an excited hug, lifting her feet off the ground, laughing as he spins her and it gives her a chance to collect herself. The moment Deacon sets her down again, Nick is there, pulling them both into a hug and seconds after that, Piper ploughs into the three of them with a cheering laugh. Distantly Ellie thinks about the acceptance speech she'll have to give, but the noise of the crowd doesn't appear to be lessening so for the moment Ellie allows herself a few happy tears as she basks in the sweet taste of victory.

\- - - - -

November 2286

It’s been a week since she’d officially moved into the office and had become mayor of Diamond City. Elli has been trying to get set up properly, unpacking her various things and wading through the files on various Diamond City laws, current projects waiting for approval, and reports on the city’s funds and cap flow. She has already sent a notice through the caravans that Diamond City is looking for skilled builders to repair the dilapidated homes in the Western Stands so that the transient farmers have a place to stay for the rest of the winter. They have plans for turning the vacant warehouse on Third into a greenhouse, and after having Diamond City’s maintenance workers check their plans for flaws, approved the idea. 

There will be only a few small crops while they get a feel for the growing conditions and the amount of water that will be needed; Ellie won’t approve full-scale crops until they have projections on that or find a way to pump water in from the Charles River —which is also something the city will need to look at as a long-term project, because she plans to grow Diamond City’s population. Those two projects were all she was willing to move on this early until she had more of an opportunity to get settled and go over everything. 

Nick had been by a few times this week with coffee to chat for a bit. Both of them are having some trouble adjusting to the new living situation and miss having each other around constantly. She can’t count the number of times she’s been reading something and then starting talking aloud, expecting Nick to answer some question or another. Nick has probably been doing the same thing. He hasn’t found anyone to replace her yet, and he doesn’t seem to be any particular rush. For all his talk about having no probably finding somebody else for her position, he seems to be reluctant to do just that. 

Piper’s also been by a number of times, basking in the ability to breeze into the mayor’s office without being stopped at the door by Geneva. She often comes in, flops down on the couch and talks about what she thinks Ellie’s timeline should be for implementing her campaign promises and platform points. Even though the campaign is over, Ellie knows that she’ll still need Piper’s insight, but after the glow of victory has worn off, it might be best that Piper limits her visits to the office to once a week. After all, Ellie expects Piper to treat her term with the same amount of scrutiny and accountability that she did with McDonough and if Piper wants her praise or condemnation of Ellie to mean anything, they have to have some professional distance. However, Ellie expects lots of drinks at the Dugout with Piper to be in her future. 

Deacon stayed in town for two days after her victory. Mostly because they were all so hung-over after the election night that travelling anywhere the next day was absolutely _out_ of the question, but Ellie knows too that Deacon stuck around because he wanted to share her win, and not just because they were all too sick to move. Before he left, Deacon gave her the baseball bat he’d walked into the agency with a week before the election day had rolled around.

“I don’t expect you so club someone with it,” he told her with a laugh as she accepted it with a bit of hesitation. “It’s symbolic. Babe Ruth used this bat to hit his 60th homerun in 1927 and Diamond City is literally a baseball town, so hang it on the wall and every time you look at it remember that you hit one outta the park with this victory.”

He had said ‘Babe Ruth’ like she was supposed to know who that was, or why he was important. Even not knowing, the sentiment behind the gift was enough for her and if Deacon had kept the bat from being delegated to the realm of a swatter, it must mean something to _him._ All the more reason to cherish it. Maybe one of these days she’d ask Moe to see his collection of baseball memorabilia and show him the bat because if anyone would know about some centuries old baseball player, it’d be Moe. 

Just then, Geneva knocks on her open office door, and Ellie turns away from where she’s contemplating Deacon’s gift to face her. 

“Mr. Latimer is here to see you, Ellie,” Geneva says —she had started out calling Ellie ‘Your Worship’, but Ellie had convinced her that a formal address was only needed for formal occasions— and Latimer glides in the room a moment later. 

“Thanks, Geneva,” Ellie replies and gestures for Latimer to take a seat as Geneva closes the door behind her. “Good morning, Mr. Latimer.”

He gives her a knowing smile. “Good morning, Your Worship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in the US, mayors are addressed as 'Your Honor' or as 'Mr./Madam Mayor', but that's boring. In Canada, we address mayors as 'Your Worship' or 'His/Her Worship' so I decided to go with that. You never know, maybe a Canadian helped first set up Diamond City back in the day. (Well, technically they wouldn't be a Canadian since the US invaded Canada in the Fallout timeline, but as polite and nice as we are seen to stereotypically be, we wouldn't give up that identity so easily.)


	2. When you’re around me all my grief gives ‘way / A lifetime with you is like some is like some heavenly day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic request/prompt from tumblr:
> 
>  
> 
> _Cuddles? Like tired Deacon plops down on the floor before Nick pulls him into his lap maybe some smooches and Dee just flops there cuz he's just so tired and Nick feels so nice_
> 
>  
> 
> Set after just shortly after Ellie's win.

October 2286

There’s a radiation storm on the horizon, the scratchy scent of its ozone hanging heavy in the air, and drawing closer with every moment they waste playing bullet tag with these stupid machines. Nick’s thankful he ran into Jack in Goodneighbour and offered his services for this Railroad mission because he hates the idea that the kid would’ve had to do this alone. Even if there were only three Gen 2 synths in this scaver party. Well two now, but apparently, they’re quicker learners than he gave them credit for because after he and Jack of them ambushed the one (Nick as the distraction and Jack under a stealth boy), the last two synths huddled together to prevent what happened to their comrade from happening to them.

Nick would like to say that he has some sort of insight into how the things think, being nearly one of them himself, but pre-war Nick doesn’t know what the hell to make of them, and this post-war version doesn’t either. He sighs in frustration (does JH purposefully bait the kid with these ‘easy’ missions or does Jack completely ignore all recommendations for aid? Without knowing JH better, he can’t say for sure and the kid is closed lipped about whatever previous relationship the two had) just as Jack reappears beside him, the stealth boy cloak falling away like a desert mirage. 

“So, they’re across the street behind that building—”

“Already knew that, kid.”

“Shush,” Jack tells him and doesn’t break stride, his voice whisper low. Low enough that if Nick didn’t have his synth hearing, he wouldn’t catch all the words. “Now, they seem to be waiting to get a proper bead on me before planning an ambush. So, I figure we let them ‘find’ me and turn the tables.”

“I’m listenin’.”

Jack’s plan is simple enough, basically a reversal of their first ambush. With Jack as bait and Nick as the flank. In this instance though, it’s the setup that’s crucial. Nick knows just how sensitive their hearing is, so if he’s going to ambush them, he’s got to make sure they believe he hasn’t moved. So first, they trade guns.

The kid’s plasma pistol is strangely weighted compared to his .223 handgun and he’s often wondered how accurate the thing can be with its odd cylinders and piping going every which way. Nick doesn’t trust it. The possibility of it melting down in his hand because of one small screw up during any number of disassemblies and cleaning processes is all too real. Jack would just laugh at his concerns, he knows; tell him that it isn’t half as likely Nick thinks it is and that the firepower is a fair trade off for its finickiness. Nick just can’t be as magnanimous about the thing, not with the possibility of it maiming or killing Jack.

But that’s true for a lot of things these days.

Nick moves quietly down the alleyway of the building they’re using as cover, the echoing noise of his .223 blotting out the noise of his footsteps completely. He’s got two minutes to get around the building before Jack uses his stealth boy cloak and tries to draw their attention. It’ll have to be something subtle, a too loud footstep or a brush against something that’ll rip a bit of the kid’s shirt because even the synth’s relatively primitive programming can tell when an enemy has changed tactics and they can’t give away their hand too early. Nick crests the far side of the building, going for the cover of a burnt-out car. He’s now on the same side of the street at the two synths and the cover fire of his gun has gone quiet. He stops breathing, keeping perfectly still so there is nothing to give him away.

The burnt smell of ozone from the synth’s laser rifles mixes with the ever-stronger ozone scent of the coming radiation storm. He’d chance a look at the darkening sky if he thought he could get away with the quiet sound of his servos moving the rustling of his clothes.

The wind has picked up and the brings with it the scent of rain and Nick knows they don’t have long to keep playing this game with the Gen 2s before they must find shelter.

In the distance, he can hear a few of Jack’s footsteps, the crunch of the loose gravel on the broken pavement, and then the impact of his cloth-covered steel plates as he hits cover purposefully hard. Anywhere from four to six feet away, Nick can hear Jack approach in a stealth situation, but beyond that, he has to strain to catch any indication of the kid’s movements, so right now, they’re uncharacteristically loud to Nick. To the synths they’re hunting, hopefully, they just seem to be a mistake rather than a trap. There’s the soft sound of metal striking the surface of the pavement, the barrel of Nick’s handgun as they’d agreed, to signal Jack’s readiness, and the Gen 2s leave their cover to strike at what they assume is a weakness.

They stalk forward into the street and Jack fires blindly once to hide the sound of Nick darting from behind cover to flank the synths. He shoots the one on the left, closer to Jack’s position, the plasma melting the synthetic skin with the first shot and the second destroying the more delicate metal parts along the spine. The synth crumples and its companion spins on Nick, reassessing who’s the most prominent threat. Which, given the current situation, Nick’s not sure he would’ve chosen himself, but in all fairness to the thing, it never stood a chance against them, to begin with. Just as it gets a bead on Nick, Jack springs up from behind his cover, the shimmer of the stealth cloak blurring the landscape behind him for a second before it recovers, and fires. The heavy .223 slug strikes the synth in the back of its head, blowing out its face in a shower of sparks and metal shards.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Jack whines as his stealth cloak drops, shaking out his arm. “Take this stupid thing back, Nick. I swear my teeth will be rattlin’ for the next week from the friggin’ recoil.”

Nick shakes his head with a smirk at the kid’s dramatics and as he moves to join Jack. As he passes the first synth, Nick fires one more shot into its face as insurance. “And I don’t much care for your pistol, either, kid.”

“Not _this_ pistol, anyways,” Jack replies with a grin and waggle of his eyebrows as they exchange weapons and Nick can’t help the snort. Leave it to the kid to sideline to raunchy remarks after a successful mission.

Jack bumps shoulders with him then and checks the state of the blackening sky. A rumble of thunder echoes off in the distance and then a flash of green lightning streaks across the clouds. Under his breath, Jack counts the seconds before the next rumble of thunder and gets to ten before it sounds again.

“It’s close,” he says and Nick nods. Too close for his comfort. Too close for them to make it to Goodneighbour or Diamond City before it lands on them with a vengeance. Jack scans the buildings around them, already coming to the same conclusion Nick had. “See anything?”

Nick shakes his head; he checked the area when he first noticed the change of pressure, but there isn’t much on the outskirts of the city that’s still intact. “Basement would be best.”

“Yeah. Pretty sure there’s some suburbs west of here.”

They both look at the sky. It’s blowing in from the southwest, as all radiation storms do. If they head toward it, it’ll cut their time for finding a decent place to hole up.

“Let’s go then,” Nick says, “Don’t have much time.”

As they set off in the direction the supposed suburbs, Jack gives him a look over the edge of his sunglasses. “A little radiation won’t kill me, ya know. Hasn’t yet.”

“Let’s keep it that way, hmm?”

It takes twenty minutes for them to find suitable shelter in the basement of a mostly intact house. By then, the rain has started to lightly fall and the timing between the lightning and the thunder claps is five seconds. Only a mile off them now and judging from the twisted look on Jack’s face, the radiation in the air is heavy enough to taste.

The house is long looted, but the dining room chairs are made of wood and Nick finds some old newspapers in the waste bin of a makeshift office. There’s chimney along the side of the house and a fireplace in the living room, but more importantly, one downstairs in a half-finished basement. It’s clear from the state of the space, that’s it’s been used before as a temporary squatter’s home. The bare framing of the walls has been hacked apart for fuel, leaving metal brackets and crooked nails in their wake, the few windows of the basement have been boarded up by table tops scrounged from the house (which explains the dining room’s lack of table), and the area around the fireplace is a nest of blankets on a squeaking fold-out couch that smells of age and damp.

Jack folds his sunglasses away and looks around the gloom with Nick’s lighter, checking for any major damage not visible from the outside, but the damp of the basement seems to just be from a lack of air flow and a high water table, not because there’s a leak in the ceiling or a crack in the concrete. Nick builds a fire while Jack checks things out, hearing the wind rapidly pick up outside. It’s turning into a nasty storm.

“Ready,” Nick says once he’s relatively sure he’s built a configuration that will stay lit and Jack sets the lighter down in the palm of Nick’s outstretched hand. As he lights the paper, Nick hopes that the chimney is clear enough to allow for proper air flow and when the fire starts catching and drawing properly, he prays that the inevitable creosote build up in the flue won’t catch fire and burn the damn house down. His only consolation being that if it did happen, it’s raining so it probably wouldn’t take down half the damn ruined city in the blaze.

And one day a fire will. A lighting strike will catch a dried-up tree on fire, or a busted lightning rod that’s no longer doing its job properly will spark a dried roof, or some asshole’s cigarette that isn’t out completely will catch more than just a section of dry grass on fire, or like they’re doing now, a fireplace decides it’s had it with the lack of chimney sweepings and takes everything out in a literal blaze of glory. As if Boston isn’t already in enough of a ruin, a fire would be catastrophic 

Jack takes a seat on the floor next to Nick, leaning against him and reaching out to the fire with his hands. Nick snaps out of his dark musings and lays his good hand along the kid’s brow, checking his temperature.

“I don’t get radiation sickness,” Jack murmurs but doesn’t push Nick’s hand away, even when he makes a noise of disbelief. “Just a bit cold now that we’ve stopped moving and a little damp from the rain.”

“Can’t imagine sittin’ on this cold floor is helpin’,” Nick replies and rises to see about the couch.

There’s no evidence that some critter has made the blanket nest its home, it just seems that whoever was crashing here left one day and didn’t come back. Nick picks out a couple of the nicest blankets and stretches them out on the floor in front of the fire to warm and dry from the slight damp and discards the rest in a heap away from the couch. Then he grabs the couch’s cushions and sets them near the fire as well. He’ll give them some time to dry out and then fold the couch back up and push it closer. It’s a good ten degrees cooler down here than outside, and the storm outside will only make the temperature drop further. All a sure sign that the extended summer they were enjoying is at an end.

Jack rises too after a moment and strips off his gun and tool belt, setting them aside, away from the heat of the fire and then pulls off his vest. The fabric heart that Charlie stitched on the outside has moved to the inside so that it’s always pressed against Jack’s, but more importantly, it makes him a little more indistinguishable. He sets his vest down, folding it out so the steel plates hold it upright for faster drying, and then stands with his back to the fireplace, arms folded together to preserve heat.

Outside, the rain lashes against the house as wind drives it, and thunder cracks right above them. Jack looks up at the ceiling of the basement and sighs.

“I hope this storm doesn’t last long,” he says. “Not that I don’t like spendin’ time with you, Nick, but a musty old basement isn’t exactly the ideal place.”

Nick nods in agreement and sheds his own coat and hat before lighting a cigarette. Even out of the rain, the ambient radiation that comes with one of these storms is deadly if someone hasn’t taken their Rad-X dose, and Nick doesn’t fancy dragging Jack through the streets of Boston, again because he’s too sick to walk himself.

His thoughts must make themselves known on his face, because in the next moment Jack is saying, “I’ll be fine. As much as I hate the stuff, I’ll get a RadAway treatment from Sun or Amari after we get back. I’m not gonna keel over. Trust me.”

“You haven’t set much of a precedent for trust in regards to your health, kid. I’ll take it with a grain of salt.”

“That happened one time. _One time,_ Nick. And, okay, I was an idiot for rushing away from Goodneighbour after…that, but come on, I wouldn’t purposefully put my own health at risk.”

Nick hopes his look of disbelief is utterly scathing because that is the biggest load of bull he’s ever heard. Everything the kid does puts his own health at risk and yet he eagerly jumps into every situation that might get him killed. If Nick didn’t already know the kid had a reoccurring death wish, he’d strongly suspect something of the sort.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jack huffs.

“Don’t try and bullshit me, then.”

“In this instance, I’m not,” Jack replies and turns to warm the front of himself as explains in a laughing voice Moira and her horrible foray in easily manufactured RadAway. Nick stares at his half-turned face in horror. “It’s not like she meant to almost kill me on purpose,” Jack hastens to add.

“‘Cause that excuses her ineptitude. Jesus, Jack why’re you so _reckless?_ ” Nick asks with a sigh not expecting an answer.

He doesn’t get one aside from a shrugging of shoulders from the kid, but the line of his back tells Nick that he’s upset with the way Nick has reacted to the story. And how was he supposed to react? With a clap on the back and an ‘Atta boy,’ for almost getting himself killed for must be the umpteenth time? Nick cares for him, loves him, and wants him to be _safe,_ so is it any wonder that gets ticked off when Jack ignores all reasonable precautions against dying? Past or present.

Nick busies himself with folding the couch back up (its hinges are stiff with rust from the damp basement and it doesn’t go quietly), and then pushing it closer to the now brightly burning fire, before setting the newly dried cushions in place. He takes a seat at one end, meaning to leave space for Jack to stretch out and get as much heat as possible from the fire, but when the kid picks up the blankets from the floor, shaking the dust from them, he curls up in baba like ball on the other end of the couch. Nick nearly groans.

“Jack.”

“Don’t talk, Nick. Not really in the mood for any more of your ‘you’re a dumbass, kid’ comments,” Jack mutters, drawing the blankets tight around his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just… _Christ,_ kid, you just walk into these situations seemingly heedless of the danger you put yourself in and then have the gall to be surprised to survive.”

“That’s because I _am_ surprised. You don’t understand how many times I’ve _walked away_ from death.” 

Nick will freely admit to not wanting to know that and if Jack never tells him, he’ll die a happy man.

“Then stop bein’ so cavalier about it, damnit!” Nick snaps. “I get that you live a life that ain’t conducive to safety and ease, but for Christssakes, you don’t have’ta rush headlong into the void just prove that your life is worth continuin’ to live.”

“I don’t, you colossal _idiot,_ ” Jack half shouts, flinging a part of the blankets back with the force of his words. “I did, I know. For a long time, I lived like that, but I don’t anymore and if you were a detective worth your salt, you’d’ve seen that already.”

Nick blinks at him. “You don’t?”

“I don’t. Why would I? When I have so many lovely things to live for, you being the chiefest among them.” Jack pulls the blankets back around him, looking suddenly unsure. “Dying just doesn’t hold that elusive glow anymore and I seemed to have accidentally made a home of the Commonwealth. That wasn’t my intention, but it’s also, apparently, no-backsies, so…” The kid shrugs. “I’m not perfect, Nick, I’m bound to backslide every once and while, and certainly don’t want the infamy of my old life to hang over this one, but overall, the desire to live is winning by a large margin.”

Nick breaks into a grin. “I’m an idiot.”

“Three times over as Poirot would say,” Jack agrees and stretches out on the couch, head coming to rest in the crook of Nick’s shoulder as Nick wraps an arm around him.

He breathes in the damp, familiar scent of Jack’s hair, a weight lifted from his chest that he didn’t fully realize existed. He can’t even begin to describe the sensation of elation that those words have created. Nick will never stop worrying about the danger that Jack faces being a part of the Railroad, but he can rest a little easier knowing that Jack isn’t going to be the instrument of his own downfall.

There’s silence for a time, filled only by the crackling fire and the heavy rain lashing the building. The radiation storm doesn’t appear to have worsened in the interim, but it also hasn’t lessened. Nick hopes that it doesn’t eat away all their daylight hours.

“This sound reminds me of the vault,” Jack murmurs, his head pressed against the side of Nick’s chest and listening to his coolant pump tick away, “and it’s like I’ve found home again. I thought that was gone forever."

Any words Nick might have for such a declaration are stuck in his vocal processor and his automatic reaction of swallowing can’t do anything to dislodge a lump that doesn’t exist beyond a glitched group of ones and zeros. So, he just presses a kiss into Jack’s crown and pulls him a little closer, hoping that’s enough to convey how _emphatically_ he feels the same.


	3. A Diamond in the Rough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for some **Deacon (Jack)/MacCready** from a tumblr prompt list that I've forgotten the name of: #56) things you said in the spur of the moment
> 
> For [Hornswaggler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornswaggler/pseuds/Hornswaggler) / [jackandrasjaqobis](http://johnandrasjaqobis.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  _Just about a year ago / I set out on the road / Seeking my fame and fortune / Looking for a pot of gold / Things got bad and things got worse / I guess you know the tune / Oh Lord, suck in Lodi again_  
>  -Lodi, CCR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say, Katrina, did you mean to write a 35k slow burn fic? 
> 
> Why no, dear reader, I didn’t. 
> 
> And did you mean to neglect your actual fic for this piece of AU trash? 
> 
> Again, no, but Hornswaggler asked for my secret stash of Mac/Deacon (Jack) and I have no self-control/shame. Blame her. Anywho, I’ll just leave this here and get back to work on ISSH...
> 
> This is an AU of what will eventually be the ending to this series. So, anything that happens, or anyone that shows up, isn’t necessarily destined to be in the actual ending.

MacCready has always meant to settle down. 

Of course, it was _supposed_ to be in some distant future, after he'd left the moss of Little Lamplight behind long enough to feel like a proper rolling stone. He'd made a pretty good go of it (feeling, somehow, that wandering wasn’t really for him) until he met Lucy and like that Old-World cliché, the rest was history. 

Not that they really settled down in the Capital. Big Town just wasn't home and he wasn't sure that any place without several hundred feet of rock overhead could be that (still isn't to be honest, but dark enclosed spaces scare Duncan now so he isn't ever likely to get back to a cave again), so the place never really had a chance. They tried Megaton after Duncan was born, but MacCready chaffed under Simms laws and Lucy didn't much care for the creaking catwalks. Rivet City was an absolute no go, even if it wasn't completely overrun by those Brotherhood bastards, Mac refused to live on a half fucking _sunk_ aircraft carrier, thank you very much. 

After that, they travelled the Capital looking for suitable place. Canterbury Commons was a ghost town, The Republic of Dave was in the midst of a civil war, Paradise Falls housed the newest branch of Cassidy Caravans and wasn’t a true settlement (not that it ever was), Arefu was full of creeps, Girdershade had a Nuka-Cola museum that Lucy thought was neat but no place to raise a child. 

Eventually, the only place they hadn’t lived in, or scratched off the list of potential settlements, was Tenpenny Tower, and caps were the prohibitive factor there. Didn’t stop it from being MacCready's goal, even if in the interim they ended up right back in Big Town. He selfishly wanted to live somewhere nice, better than Big Town, safe like Little Lamplight had been, and on a caravan run to pick up work. Tenpenny Tower was the dream. _His_ dream, and trying to get there is what got Lucy killed. 

After that, settling down seemed like a pipe dream. Mostly because he didn't plan to live much beyond securing a cure for Duncan and if he did then surely his lifestyle would put him in the grave before long. The whole of Big Town, in his mind, would’ve been a much better environment for Duncan to be raised in. _Without_ MacCready there to fuck it up. Hell, they'd collectively raised kids for two centuries, it was pretty much tried and true, but Jack had to go and be all fucking alive and shit, and after lying to Mac for nine months about who the hell he was he had the _gall_ to tell MacCready that the best place for Duncan to be was with him. 

“Do you know how often I think of my dad?” he had asked Mac when he'd learned of MacCready's wish. “ _Every. Day._ There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish he was still here with me. That he hadn’t fucking sacrificed himself for that purifier. That he hadn't chosen it and my mother's ghost over _me._ ” The hard, hurt edge to Jack's voice is what sealed the words in Mac's memory. “Don't do that to Duncan, Mac. I guarantee that he won't think you did it out of love or what was best; he'll wonder what was so bad about him that made you want to go.”

So, with that plan firmly ixnayed, MacCready had to find a new one. One with Duncan. One where he isn’t a shit dad and Duncan is better off with him in his life. He’s had to buck up and do that to be there for his kid. The way that Joseph, and their Lucy, and Penny, and Knick Knack, and even Princess were there for him. 

Initially, Diamond City seemed the best place to settle down in the Commonwealth. It has all the amenities anyone could possibly want, and more importantly, the frigging Lone Wanderer in residence. Mac had pretty much decided on it. Ellie had even offered him a permanent post as a Lieutenant in the Diamond City Security so he wouldn’t have to leave town for merc contracts—a little less adventurous than he was used to, but safe and close to Duncan. He almost took it too, but then fucking Far Harbour happened and Jack and Valentine came back on the opposite ends of a crater and, well… Diamond City still hasn’t bounced back from that breakup, to say nothing of how Jack is coping (i.e. not at all). And hell if Mac is going to live in a town without the Lone Wanderer in it, or in one with the sonuvabitch who had crushed just about every bit life out of Jack. 

If Valentine met a grisly end, MacCready would be the first to raise a toast to the asshole who did it. Hell, he sometimes thought about being that asshole, but shit, Ellie was making noise about negotiating trade routes with Sanctuary Hills and he couldn’t shoot himself in the foot by killing a friend of hers. No matter how much the synth bastard deserved it.

And…he probably could’ve segued into that better, but yeah, he is in Sanctuary now, with Duncan and the remnant populations of Big Town and Megaton. Which sounds like a lot of people, but between those taken in by the bullshit of the Brotherhood and those who had the good sense to leave the Capital before MacCready accidentally started a mass exodus with his angry rant about Jack: ‘The Lone Wanderer Asshole We All Thought Was Dead (Or Worse), Who Was Just Chilling The Fuck Out In The Commonwealth With Its Blue Skies, Synth Replacement Hell, And Brotherhood Incursion 2.0’, there really weren’t that many left. 

He should’ve known better than to rant to Joseph in front of Bittercup, but he was just so _pissed off_ and had two weeks on the road to stir himself into a hell of a rage since anger was easier to deal with than the thought that he wouldn’t make it back to the Capital in time to save Duncan. And if he’d known that his words about Jack would’ve caused such a reaction from the _whole of the friggin’ Capital_ he probably would’ve been a bit nicer in his estimation of their lost Lone Wanderer. 

…Probably. 

All told, there were about 40 former residents of Big Town and Megaton that settled in Sanctuary with MacCready for pretty much the exact same reason he had, Jack spent more time in this settlement than any other. Especially now that he and Valentine were quits. Even Ellie had decided that this was Jack’s new home and had sent his things with a caravan and a note to Sanctuary Hills last week, but with housing efforts underway for most of the 40-plus people that had decided this place was home, there really wasn’t space for it. 

Which is how the boxes ended up in Mac’s house with him tripping over them often enough that Duncan had started singing in his high squeaky voice at every opportunity, “Don’t fall, Da. Don’t fall, Da. Don’t fall, Da,” because the idiot (Jack that is) has a frankly ridiculous collection of books and they aren’t going to stand up to the spring rains they’ve been getting. 

Unfortunately, Mac’s house has become a catch-all for a lot of stuff, like the spare furniture from the houses in town that were just too destroyed to be of any use and personal items from the Big Town/Little Lamplight/Megaton crowd that aren’t essential for day to day living. His house is the central most building Sanctuary, and also happens to be one of the best preserved, so the carport is a catch-all for tools and materials that need to stay out of the rain. Frankly, Mac’s starting to feel a bit like a mole rat in a junk heap with all the things crowding him and Duncan out. The only space clear of boxes is a wide swath around the wood stove that’s been heating the house during the cold spring nights. 

The house used to belong to the Longs, but Macy, Jun, and Lee (don’t let him catch you calling him Kyle), moved to a house they’d built on the east side of town with a view of the river right about the time MacCready at the Capital Wasters had settled in Sanctuary. He’d ended up with the house because, apparently, he was the leader of their ragtag group and now, somehow, the mayor of this damn place. 

The former residents of Big Town/Little Lamplight had deferred to him on the decisions regarding their journey because once their mayor always their mayor, and by the time they had started for Sanctuary, they outnumbered the former residents of Megaton. Then, when they arrived, the nine people that still called Sanctuary home after the Minutemen moved to the Castle permanently, couldn’t decide among themselves who should lead and so MacCready ended up with the job. 

Being mayor of a bunch of mungos was a lot different than being mayor of a bunch of kids. More assholes and less shooting things. It wasn’t exactly how Mac wanted to spend his days, but if he didn’t try and whip this settlement into shape, who would? 

So here he is, trying to get resources for houses, hoping the rain won’t wash away the crops they managed to get planted before it started, being a (mostly) impartial judge for the inevitable disagreements between Little Lamplighters and Megatonians and Sanctuarians, attempting to put together a half-decent guard rotation while Sturges, Moira, and Timebomb build turrets, and trying not to scream in frustration on a daily frigging basis. 

Overall, Mac would say he’s succeeding. Though, some days that need to scream…

Like today: how many times has he said to Cromwell that a church to Atom has to come _after_ housing? And yet here he is droning on and on about the Glow and the Warmth and the Divide and blah, blah, blah, blah, _blah_. If he had any shame about the conduct of the Children currently in the Commonwealth the man might be a little humbler about asking for his damnable church. Or at the very least, go bug Ellie about it.

Mac sighs and crushes out the last of his cigarette as Cromwell takes his leave, praying for ‘guidance’ from Atom for MacCready. He seriously considers if punching people is still a viable option for governing a community. Worked pretty well for him the last time around. When Cromwell is out of sight of the tiny tin shack that is currently serving as MacCready’s office (a.k.a. the place where people come to bitch), he checks his pocket watch before he starts across town. 

The evening's light rain sliding easily off his oiled leather slicker as he rolls his shoulders, still feeling a bit weird about not having his rifle slung across his back. This far north there aren’t many raiders and between Jack directing the Minutemen and Coursers on clearing operations, there aren’t many raiders left in the whole of the Commonwealth so he doesn’t need to be armed to the teeth anymore. Doesn’t mean that they don’t need guards, or turrets, or defenses since it’s just as much about protecting from outside attackers as it is from internal ones.

Nor does it mean that Mac _isn’t_ armed.

He's tired from a day of being an over-worked, under-payed bureaucrat and as he walks up the overcrowded drive way of his house-turned-storage-lot, MacCready hopes that Codsworth has made something tasty instead of allowing Duncan to talk him into a game of hide-and-seek amongst the clutter again. Thankfully, as he opens the door, the scent of brahmin stew whooshes out in a great warm rush and Mac lets out a sigh of relief. 

Just as he steps inside, Duncan lets out a squeal of delight and immediately, MacCready is looking for the source of the problem. Duncan doesn’t ever make that noise about something safe, like a kitten or a pretty rock or any of the clothing that Mac has to _fight_ to get him into in the morning. No, he likes to squeal about molerats and half-constructed houses and high rocks and the BB gun that Eddy Creel has and a hundred other things that could harm him in gruesome ways that MacCready gets to image while he smiles and either tells him to be careful or that when he’s older he can play with the BB gun. 

MacCready wants to be accommodating for most of Duncan’s adventures, remembering what his childhood was like in Little Lamplight, and simply watches to make sure he doesn’t get seriously hurt. There are lots of things out there that Mac says no to, but he’s never sure if in doing so, he’s made the right decision. Lucy would’ve known, he’s sure. She would’ve been better at this than him. She should _be here_ to see all this. 

The source of Duncan’s delighted squeal is, appropriately, Jack. Or rather, the ugly bird statue he’s pulled out of one of his boxes and is showing off to Duncan. He has his tiny hands all over the thing, it’s black paint shimmering in the lantern light, and it looks like Duncan wants to hold the statue but Jack won’t let him have it. Must be heavy. 

MacCready starts pulling off his coat as Duncan says in his high excited voice, “Look, da! It’s a tiny lion!” He starts tugging upward on the beak of the statue and Jack obliges him by lifting it higher for Mac to see. 

He says, “Neato,” just as Jack says, “It’s a bird, kiddo,” with a half sort of smile on his face that's likely the first real one that’s graced it in a long while. Someone needs to put a bullet in Valentine.

“That’s not what he means,” Mac replies because sometimes the way Duncan puts words together is weird for mungos. “He’s saying that it’s a tiny statue. He’s seen the lions at the library.” 

Jack makes an _‘oh,’_ face and sets the statue down on one of the few free surfaces in the house, Duncan plops down in front of it immediately and starts talking to it via a little toy soldier that he carries around almost constantly. 

“When’ja get in?” Mac asks.

Jack shrugs. “An hour or so ago. Wanted some books.”

“And I convinced him to stay for supper, Master Robert,” Codsworth says as he floats in from the kitchen. 

“With that heavenly smell coming from the kitchen, Jeeves, no convincin’ was necessary,” Jack replies with a smile that Mac knows isn’t real. 

“It does smell good, Codsworth,” Mac confirms and the Handy preens. Then he pins Jack with a look, “This better not be the beginnin’ of an exodus of your stuff.”

“Thought you didn’t want to look after my ‘crap’.”

“I don’t. I want you to have a house of your own. _In town._ Not in that underground science experiment with Eden and Coursers as your only company.”

“Nothing wrong with Coursers, aside from their lack of humour, and JH isn’t that bad. He’s just…” Jack trails off with a look that says, _‘he’s mostly harmless, but not entirely,’_ and Mac rolls his eyes at Jack’s naivety. Damn him and his fascination with machines.

“Once an evil, mustache-twirly A.I., always an evil, mustache-twirly A.I.”

“You know he probably can hear you, right?” Jack replies with an eyebrow raise and holds up his Pip-Boy. 

“Because that isn’t weird or creepy or mustache-twirly.”

Jack lets out a helpless huff of laughter and MacCready feels something buoy in his chest. Jack barely spoke the last time he was in Sanctuary. Nice to see some bit of life returning. 

“I’m sure he only does it on odd hours.”

Mac sighs and sits down to pull off his boots. “I honestly wonder how the H-E-double-L you’ve survived all this time.”

“Me too. And is this your newest anti-swearin’ technique? What’re you gonna do when you-know-who learns to spell?” Jack replies with a head tilt toward Duncan.

“…Make him spell too, I suppose.”

“So, soon he’ll have a repertoire of B-I-T-C-H’s and A-double S-H-O-L-E’s and C-O-C-K-S-U-C—”

“I swear, if you finish that, I will F-U-C-K-I-N-G hurt you, Jack.”

The only response he gets is another laugh (much better than the first one) and a look that says, _‘I can take you, MacCready.’_ He just rolls his eyes. Yeah, right Wanderer.

After supper, while Duncan brings all his various toys out to interact with Jack's bird statue (which he clearly believes now belongs to him), MacCready manages to convince Jack to stick around for a week and act like a normal human being instead of the Saviour of the Commonwealth. He doesn't want to. Leave the 'security'—read: isolation—of the Institute, that is (Jack would drop his mantle of Lone Wanderer and Saviour and all-around Commonwealth Problem Solver like radiated potato if he could get away with it). As if burying himself under a 100 tons of earth and concrete will bury the pain of his breakup with Valentine too while he finds a 100 different things to do to avoid even considering the fact that his heart was basically ripped from his chest and flayed open.

MacCready is keenly aware of how much Jack loved, scratch that, _loves,_ Valentine and can easily empathize with the terrible prospect of trying to move on from a love like that. As shitty as it to even think it, it was better that his Lucy died. If she'd just decided to _leave_ him, Mac's not sure how he would've survived that heartbreak and he's not sure Jack will, but he does know that Jack most certainly _won't_ if he stays in that sterile Institute crypt. 

There isn't much space in Sanctuary for another warm body to find space to sleep, but MacCready’s house is crawling with various furniture so they manage a makeshift bed out of a couple of couches, some blankets and a pillow that's been scrounged from somewhere, washed, set out in the cold spring sun to dry. Back when they had sun, that is. Still, after everything is set up and Jack is readying to bunk down for the night, MacCready feels a pang of guilt that Jack's long frame has to make do with that small space when Mac has a gloriously big bed in his own room. It's the one luxury he has for himself in this place. 

Back before everything, his goal was always to have a large bed when he settled down. He imagined some decadent thing at the top of Tenpenny Tower when he and Lucy had little more than a small cot between them, but one he has on the ground floor of this Sanctuary house is a pretty good reality. MacCready almost offers to trade beds since it makes more sense for him to take the smaller space being that he's six inches shorter, but Jack just cocoons himself in the couch cushions and blankets while Codsworth pokes at the fire so Mac decides to keep the offer to himself for the time being.

Most of the week sees Jack at the mechanics garage/science center that Moira, Jonas, Sturges, and Timebomb share counter space in for all their various projects for the town. Back when he used to visit Little Lamplight, Jack would talk about Moira, but his descriptions of her hardly did the woman justice. He must have omitted some of her crazy, or maybe he just overlooks some of her peculiarities. She's a nice enough lady, but if Jonas wasn't around to rein her in some, Mac wouldn't be comfortable living in the same town. 

Jack spends his evening with MacCready and Duncan while being a good sport about putting up Duncan's endless questions and chattering. Duncan has taken a shine to Jack and thinks he's just the best thing since sliced bread. Probably because most of his bedtime stories back in Big Town consisted of Lone Wanderer and Daring Dashwood stories. 

About half way through the week, Jack begins getting asked to help with various projects around town. It starts with Timebomb and Sturges asking about incorporating robot friend/foe protocols into the turrets rather than relying on a trip line to set them off, which then escalates into asking Jack to clear out Satellite Station Olivia of a gang of local raiders so they can salvage the tech there. Which isn't a bad idea since that tech would be useful, but it also _isn't_ Jack's responsibility to look after. Thankfully, MacCready was in earshot for that one and kyboshed the request. 

Later that evening, while at Mac's, Jack says he'll send a couple of Coursers to look after the raiders. 

“The point isn't that you can do it, Jack”, MacCready tells him. “The point is that you shouldn't have to, or _volunteer_ to. You can't fix everyone's problems. That's not your job.”

“Isn't it? What's the point of all this power if I don't use it for somethin’ good?”

“You already are. Coursers and Minutemen have put down the last of Gunners, raider camps are practically non-existent, that Doctor chick you knew from the Capital—”

“Madison.” 

“—yeah, her. She's working on a mass water purification system, and if we could get a decent radio comm. tower built, your friend Jonas could help her with that—”

“Right, I knew there was something else I wanted JH to send parts for but I couldn't remember—”

“—Stop interrupting, you A-S-S,” MacCready snaps. “You've already done good, already _are_ doing good. Big picture good. That's your...area, thing, whatever. Just leave this little crap to others, otherwise, it'll be just like it was back in the Capital, with every Tom, Dick, and Harry asking for you to save their pet groundhogs and shi- er, stuff while your personal life suffers.” 

As per usual, when Jack hears something he doesn't like/doesn't agree with/doesn't want to deal with, he picks out one little thing from the conversation and makes it his obsession to make you forget the topic. 

“Do you suppose you can domesticate a groundhog? I hear they still have fur and everything—much cuter than a molerat obviously. Do you think there's still groundhogs in Punxsutawney?”

“Gowundhog!” Duncan exclaims in excitement, having yet to get the hang of 'R' words. Jack nods enthusiastically, while Mac ignores the interruption.

“Uh, I don't give a F-U-C-K if there is or not. Look, Brotherhood remnants, that's your deal. Salvage ops for this settlement are mine. They need to learn to come to me and not directly to you. You've got other things to worry about.”

“If it's something that I can easily solve I don't see why I shouldn't help,” Jack replies somewhat mulishly. Mac sighs. He’s ready to snap but he tries for a more reasonable tone of voice. Getting into a shouting match with Jack isn't going help his argument. 

“Stop thinking like a rink-a-dink Railroad agent and start thinking like the friggin' Director of the Institute. Or General of the Minutemen, take your pick. If you try to solve everyone's problems, no matter how easy, you'll run yourself into the ground. If the problem is beyond our ability to solve, I'll tell your A.I. _secretary_ and he can tell you when you've got a moment.”

Jack lets out a bark of laughter. “I'll tell him you call him that.”

“Good. Maybe it'll knock that thing down a few pegs. But I'm serious, Jack, don't let them corner you into helpin' or sweet talk you with a sob story. You're allowed to say no, that doesn't make you a bad person. You've already done more than most people do in a lifetime.”

“I'm not going to rest on my laurels, Mac.”

“Then don't, but your laurels put you in a category above simple settlement management.” 

\- - - - -

MacCready decides to leave the news about the Coursers clearing Olivia until after Jack has left. He doesn't want anyone to get ideas. They already think they're better off than most settlements by virtue of Jack hanging around (which they are), but they shouldn't think themselves hoity-toity enough to just ask Jack to do things for them. He's here for a break from fixing the Commonwealth, from the cold confines of the Institute, and to get his mind off Valentine, _not_ to piss around helping them. 

The day before Jack is slated to return to his daily grind sees Mac at his little tin shack, Bitch Central, and a parade of people complaining about the water situation. They're capturing as much rainwater as possible for filtration but it's still a slow process. Until Jonas builds the water purifier he's saying will end all their water troubles, it’s rations for everyone. That means drinking water only and if you want a bath, step outside. It's _still_ raining. MacCready will admit to being skeptical about the purifier being _that_ successful, but Jonas is convinced it’s going to work and Mac is happy to let him try.

When his door opens near the end of the day, MacCready doesn't even look up from the patrol schedule he’s already wasted three cigarettes on because the stupid thing still doesn’t want to come together. In fact, he almost starts in on his: ‘We're on water rations, dumbass, so no, you can't have a 'little extra’,’ spiel when his visitor speaks first.

“So, how's the farmin' situation around here?”

Mac looks up from the schedule with a confused expression on his face to find Jack standing in the door way.

“What?”

“Ya know, corn, razor grain, tatoes, that sort of thing.”

“Uh...well they got crops in before all this damn rain, but if it keeps up too much longer things'll get washed away and...” Mac trails off at the look on Jack's face. It's his: _‘I'm not interested but I'm pretending that I am,’_ look. MacCready gets annoyed in flash. “Would just say what it is that you really want to know and stop dickin’ around? Jeez.”

Jack takes a seat on the edge of MacCready's scrounged desk, which is about the same width as the room. “Most people like the chance to dither on to a captive audience.”

“Well, I don't and you should know that. So, spit it out.”

“Fine, fine. That area east of town, is it a viable area for crops?”

“No. Bumble says it's mostly clay and it’d take a lot of work to amend the soil. Whatever that means.”

“So, if I wanted to maybe build something there...that would be okay?”

“I suppose.” Mac narrows his eyes and flicks the ash off his fourth cigarette. “Unless it's a bunch of robot junk.”

“Oh, don't worry, JH gets to deal with that mess.” 

Lucky him. 

“What do you want to build there, then?”

Jack grins, halfway between a real one and a show. “It's a surprise.” 

Mac feels a tingle of dread creep along his neck. “Good or bad?”

“Oh, definitely good. Well, probably. Mostly. More than half, I'm certain.” 

“The more you talk the less certain I am.”

“Pretty please, Mic-Mac? With some .50 cal. rounds on top?”

MacCready raises an eyebrow. If Jack thinks he'll cave just because he went and used _that_ nickname... “I want one of those gauss rifles. Get me one from your Railroad buddies and you can build whatever you want on the east side of town, provided it doesn't interfere with the building we're tryin' to do.”

A real smile creeps across Jack's face at that. “Your sniper rifle lost its luster?”

“My rifle can take out a full armoured Gunner on a psycho and buffout trip with a clean shot through the armour at a close enough range. But a gauss rifle can punch through _power armour._ I've been droolin' over them since I first heard the Old-World military had them in development, just never found one until now.” 

“Well, I might be able to pull a few strings...”

“Good. Build whatever you want. Rifle first, though.” 

“Of course.” 

Jack heads out the next morning after Duncan sheds a bunch tears about his 'best bud' leaving. Jack had reassured Duncan that he'd be back to visit and that seemed to calm him down, but MacCready felt bad, _feels_ bad about that because he's pretty sure he's the source of Duncan's distress when people leave. He was gone a long time looking for that cure, and it must have seemed an eternity to Duncan. 

They walk together to the relay site, Jack having already said his goodbyes to Moira and Jonas. It's on the other side of the half-collapsed bridge (another project to work on after the rain stops) and on the ridge across from the Minutemen statue that marks the entrance to Sanctuary. The area there is mostly free of trees and the few small saplings there are there have been burnt almost beyond recognition by the relay's electrical discharge. Which is exactly why the relay spot is out of town. They climb the ridge, and Jack heads to the center of the blackened circle where there's a patch about two feet around of trampled but still green grass. 

“One month,” Mac tells him from a safe distance outside the burnt ring, Duncan’s hand impossibly small in his. 

“One month,” Jack agrees as Duncan nods enthusiastically. 

“I'll tell Garvey,” Mac adds because he doesn't trust Jack to stick to the schedule. “And if Eden's listenin' I expect him to hold you to it too.” 

Jack rolls his eyes. “I can actually remember to do stuff, ya know.”

“I don't doubt your memory, Jack.” 

“Ouch. My word isn't good enough?”

“You haven't promised.” 

“I agreed.” 

“Which is just enough wiggle room for you to bend the timeline. I know you.” 

Jack sighs and for a fleeting moment looks heartbreakingly sad. It crushes Mac to see it. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. “I promise to come back in a month.”

“Eden,” Mac calls, “put it on his calendar. Two weeks.” 

“We agreed to one!”

“And Duncan wants two.” 

“Two!” Duncan echoes and holds up two fingers.

Jack grumbles but doesn't disagree any further. “You MacCreadys are a pain in the A double S, you know that, right?”

“F-U-C-K you too, Jack. See you in a month.” Mac turns then, tugging Duncan along with him as they start walking away from the relay site, back toward town. The electrical discharge is blinding to look at so he wants to be away from the site before it goes off. Behind him, Mac hears Jack say, “I'm ready to relay, JH,” and then the sharp _crack_ of the electrical discharge as it pulls Jack's molecules apart to reassemble them inside the Institute's walls. 

Duncan jumps in surprise at the noise even though MacCready and Jack both warned him it would be loud. As they walk back along the bridge, Mac swings Duncan over the holes as he laughs and shrieks, and then demands to do it again when his feet hit the solid boards on the other side.

A week later, while MacCready is on patrol around town, stretching his legs in the sunshine and making sure he isn't readily available to anyone unless it's important, Joseph finds him river-side looking a little out of breath as he says, “Coursers relayed in about ten minutes ago with a bunch of stuff.”

“Like?” Mac asks as he lets Joseph lead him back toward the center of town. 

“Stuff.” Joseph shrugs. “Electrical components, steel beams, and somethin' for you.” 

Mac perks up. “Somethin’ gun shaped?”

Joseph shakes his head with a smirk. “Don't know. Just have'ta see.”

Near the center of town, where the land starts to slope toward the small creek and the footpath that leads to the ruins of Vault 111, a couple of Coursers are using a hand-held auger to dig a hole in the earth. Near them, another mixes a batch of concrete with water pulled from the creek. The spring sun isn’t that warm yet, but the three Coursers working have removed their long coats, preferring their short-sleeved undershirts, and have slung the coats over a nearby fence with their laser rifles propped nearby. A fourth Courser, who is overseeing it all, has a dark bag braced over one shoulder with something large and long inside.

As MacCready approaches, the fourth Courser turns and catching sight of his face, Mac thinks this one’s designation is X6-something or other. He’s seen the Courser a few times with Jack—a hulking shadow that dares anyone to mess with the Director. As useful as it must be, Jack is crazy for making these things do such menial labour for him. They’re elite hunting machines and he has them _digging holes_ for Christssakes. If that doesn’t sum up Jack’s brand of insanity, he doesn’t know what does.

“Good morning, Mayor MacCready,” the X6 says, tone bland. “The Director sends his regards and apologizes for not being here in person.”

“Well, the month’s not up yet. This that comm. tower he mentioned?” Mac asks as he slings his rifle over his back—patrols are a nice excuse to pull the thing out.

“Yes. He also sent this along for you,” X6 lifts the bag from his shoulder and with one hand, and holds it out for MacCready to take. “Please watch yourself. It’s meant to be used with a suit of power armour.”

Mac hesitates for a moment with at that warning, but he takes the bag with both hands and nearly, _embarrassingly,_ crumples under the sheer weight of the thing, cursing rapidly before he can get a handle on his mouth. The bag, and what surely must be the gauss rifle Jack promised, has got to weigh fifty pounds. And holy shit, that frigging Courser handled it like it was a piece of rebar or something. Jeez, he’s glad that Jack has control of those things.

“It will take us approximately two days to set up the communications tower,” X6 says, thankfully not commenting on MacCready’s ungraceful lurch with anything other than a single eyebrow raise and that’s scathing enough.

“Uh, okay,” Mac responds distractedly, trying to better adjust the weight of the bag. “We’ll get you guys some water.” He looks to Joseph then and he nods in understanding of the request for him to make that happen.

“That isn’t necessary,” X6 replies, shedding his own coat and moving to help the Courser shoveling concrete into the freshly augured hole now that the other two have moved on to the next spot.

“Yeah, it is. Jack’ll be ticked if you return dehydrated.” X6 opens his mouth, probably to argue, but the bag is heavy and Mac runs out of patience. “And no, I don’t need a lecture on Coursers abilities and limits, thanks. Just shut up and drink your damned water.”

“As you say,” X6 concedes, his voice straying into resigned annoyance. MacCready leaves them to their work then and hauls his prize up to his house to unwrap.

Inside, it’s quiet and Mac sets the bag down with a huff of exertion on the dining table. Codsworth and Duncan are down near the lake this afternoon where Codsworth is teaching Duncan how to fish. MacCready is doubtful that there are fish in the lake, let alone editable ones, but the Handy is determined that Duncan learn all sorts of ‘American past-times’. 

Codsworth had wanted very much to be a part of raising Nora’s kid, but it turned out that the Handy was about 60 years too late to that show, so he’s trying to live that life now with Mac and Duncan. Not that Mac’s complaining or anything. Codsworth is a God send. He’d be a hopeless, swamped, desperate mess if it weren’t for Codsworth, and Duncan loves him, which is just the cherry on top.

The bag’s zipper slides open easily, and inside is the gauss rifle that he’d bargained for. A rush of giddy excitement breaks over him as he shoves the bag back around the rifle to get a better look. It’s a beautiful thing. The copper coils bright, their protective shield shiny, though scratched, and to his surprised, _Enclave_ is engraved on it. MacCready is certain that the ones the Railroad has don’t have this extra little detail on them (or are in as good of shape). He lifts the rifle out of the bag to better inspect it and notes the same engraving on the opposite side, as well as a few extra details that he can’t recall seeing on any other versions. 

Suddenly, he’s _dying_ to try it out on something. The weight is a problem for finding something to shoot close enough to town, but at least with magnetic induction propelling the bullets, there shouldn’t be much of a kick back to worry about. Which on a regular rifle of this weight would probably break a few bones.

MacCready is about to put it back in the bag, mind ticking away as to possible targets and places to go to shoot when he spots a folded piece of paper in the bottom. Slipping it out before he sets the weight of the rifle down, Mac flips it open and sees Jack’s neat scrawl. _Vaulties._

> Mac,
> 
> 1 gauss rifle, as requested. Lovingly stolen from the Prydwen. In storage ‘til now. A travesty, I know.
> 
> As you might have noticed, it’s a bit different from the ones you were drooling over at Railroad HQ. This rifle is a prototype that the Enclave was working on before the BoS stormed Adam’s Air Force Base. Haven’t seen any others so I assume that the diagrams were destroyed and that the BoS didn’t see the point of continuing the research. (A giant zeppelin, now that was worth the man hours…)—Mac can practically hear the eye roll in that statement—It works like a hot damn though, in case you were worried about it exploding. JH says it won’t, but I test fired it anyways ‘cause I knew that wouldn’t be good enough for you.
> 
> I suggest trying it out on the Red Rocket rocket just down the way from Sanctuary. Have fun!
> 
> Jack
> 
> P.S. Now we match!

MacCready grins at the idiotic postscript and tucks the note away in his pocket. Putting a few holes in the rocket at the Red Rocket sounds like a great idea. Now, how to haul the thing there without breaking his back?

\- - - - -

Jack returns to Sanctuary two weeks overdue (every day that went by and Jack didn’t appear, Duncan asked him why Jack was late) flanked by half a dozen Coursers carrying shovels, hoes, rakes, and sand bags, and looking like shit. 

MacCready sent Eden a message last week, on that new communications tower of theirs, reminding him that Jack was supposed to be back a week ago, but the only response he got back from Eden was that Jack was ‘not well enough to travel.’ Which was clearly code for, ‘Jack’s busy being depressed and crying because he had a run-in with Valentine that set him spiraling out of control. Let him wallow for a while and he’ll get back to Sanctuary later,’ because if Jack really wasn’t well enough to travel, Eden would have sent a message saying that Jack had been injured and given a timeline for his return like a good secretary would. Mac wanted to hit something after that message. Goddamn Valentine. 

Lee Long lets MacCready know that Jack’s arrived back in town a few minutes before Jack arrives at his tin mayoral shack. He meets Jack just outside and sees the damage done despite his cheery grin and sunglasses. It’s a good thing Lee trotted off to tell Jonas and Moira about Jack’s arrival as well because this looks like something he isn’t going to be able to handle on his own. 

“So, what’s with them?” Mac asks, gesturing to the Coursers. 

“You got your rifle, I get my very own diamond.”

“That better not be a crack about how I run this place because Ellie just has to deal with assholes, I have to deal with assholes and trying to set up a workable settlement.”

Jack’s grin softens slightly into realism. “Not that kind of diamond. I don’t wanna build a settlement on it. I wanna play ball on it.”

Immediately, MacCready breaks into a wide smile, excitement creeping into his tone. “No shit?! Jack, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“Wasn’t sure how well it’d be received.”

“Jeez, you gotta know that anyone who was in Little Lamplight would love to play again, and better yet, teach our kids. And if you can talk a bunch of surly kids into playing, you can talk a bunch of mungos in need of a break into it, easy peasy.”

Jack starts off toward the east side of town and MacCready falls in step, the Coursers diligently following. “Need a break, Mac?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

When they get the area, just outside of town, Jack starts hunting for the perfect spot to set up his diamond on. He doesn’t want to fell any trees if they can help it, but with the Coursers on hand, Mac doesn’t expect it’ll be a problem. Eventually, Jack settles on a relatively large and flat area with just a few trees on it that slopes sharply off toward the river on one side. It’s the best area so far and Jack directs the Coursers to begin their work, while a couple start back toward town now that the spot has been found. 

MacCready watches them go with a curious look and Jack says, “Got some more stuff relaying in,” in explanation. Moira and Jonas join them then, with Moira pulling Jack into a hard hug while she chatters on about the work she’s doing for the latest edition of her _Wasteland Survival Guide_ , voice never leaving that cheerful range that Mac finds a little unsettling at the best of times. Jonas stands just to the right of Moira’s shoulder, nodding here and there in time with whatever Moira says and slowly, over the course of the afternoon, the pained look on Jack’s face smooths out. 

It takes about three days of work for the ball diamond to come together. It’s not exactly up to Old-World standards, and it’s a little rough around the edges, but it’s regulation size, with a nice pitcher’s mound, a wide swath of sand and gravel chips for plate slides, and straight runs to all the bases. The Coursers did a hell of a job carving it out of the scrub grass, and there’s even a partial fence around the back of home to keep any wild foul balls or throws from hitting anything in town. Not that there’s anything this far out save for the Longs’ house, but one day Mac figures Sanctuary will be a town to rival Diamond City, so they’ve got to think long term. 

The evening it’s finished, MacCready stands on the pitcher’s mound and throws an imaginary ball to Jack, who’s lined up to bat, and after his ‘homerun’, out of the park hit, he runs all the bases making hollow noises in the throat that mimic a roaring crowd. Mac laughs and then decides to get into an argument with their ‘umpire’ over Jack’s home run hit because the ball ‘landed’ in the lake and therefore didn’t touch the ground so when one of his guys swam out to get it, Jack should’ve been out. 

Which turned into a real, though not unfriendly argument, over the rules if that actually did happen. MacCready maintains that water isn’t the ground so if you swam out for it and got it then it still counted as an out. Jack’s firm that if it didn’t hit the leather of the glove first and stay there, then it still technically hit the ground and was in regular play, water or no water.

He doesn’t imagine they’ll come to an agreement anytime soon on the matter, so whoever ends up as the umpires will have to decide on their own when the time comes. Of course, Mac knows that sometimes Jack argues for the sake of arguing and not because believes in the argument, so perhaps, he’ll have outfielders diving in the water for a ball after all. Maybe they can agree to a concession like, if the player makes all the bases before the ball is retrieved the team gets to keep the point.

The next day, Jack starts getting numbers for people to make up a couple of teams. He told MacCready that if there isn’t enough interest, that the two of them could captain Courser teams and play ball that way, but Jack needn’t have worried. There’s enough interest for three different teams and he has to ask everyone to give him a couple of days to work out a tryout schedule to see where everyone’s skill level is to balance out the teams and to give his Coursers time to scrounge up enough gloves, balls and bats. 

Mac figures all that will keep him busy and his mind off Valentine for the rest of his time at Sanctuary, but the oddest thing happens.

Two nights after he got the list of names for their teams, Jack stumbles into Mac’s bed drunker than a Brotherhood soldier on leave.

It’s the middle of the night and MacCready had thought that Jack was crashing and Moira and Jonas’ digs since he spent all evening with them having supper and visiting. Mac’s damn sure he’s _never_ seen Jack drunk. Like ever. That isn’t something that Jack does. Kills a bunch of people in a vengeance-fueled rampage? Yes. Drinks to excess? _No._ Shit, there’ve been times that MacCready’s thought booze would be a better option than murder, especially after the fall of the Switchboard when Jack went to a dark fucking place, but actually witnessing Jack wasted is just… _wrong._

Plus, MacCready nearly kills the asshole when he throws himself on Mac’s bed because his first instinct is to go for the pistol on the side table and then pin whatever threat down so he can better assess the situation. He damn near shoots Jack just on principal when he realizes who it is by the half-laughing, “Whoa there, cowboy, this bronco’s broken.”

“For fuckssakes, Jack,” MacCready hisses and jabs the barrel of his pistol into a soft spot somewhere around Jack’s shoulder. It’s hard to tell exactly in the dark, but he can feel Jack wince. Good. “What the hell are you doing? It’s the middle of the Goddamned night!” he whispers harshly and rolls back onto his side of the bed. How the hell did Jack manage to get into his room without waking Codsworth from standby mode?

“Well, I was gonna crash on the couch, but it's small and uncomfortable and you have such a nice, big bed, Mac,” Jack says in a voice that isn’t slurred but sounds weird all the same and that’s when MacCready realizes it.

“Are you _drunk?_ ” he asks incredulously.

Jack holds his thumb and pointer finger a small distance apart and they catch a beam of moonlight streaming in through a crack in the boards on the window. “A little? I don’t really know. I think this is the first time.” He starts giggling then and Mac silently asks for strength. “Jonas knows where Harden hides his still.”

“He should,” Mac mutters, “he help build the damn thing. So, the two of you are trashed, then? I can only hope that Moira kills him with a hangover cure in the mornin’.” MacCready sets his pistol back down on the side table and lies down with a sigh. “Just try and get some sleep, yeah?”

He isn’t even going to try and get Jack out of his bed. Mac’s pretty much resigned to Jack just having free rein over everything in his life. There’s no stopping a radiation storm, after all. Only weathering it. 

“Kay.”

There’s silence for a little while after that, and Mac is almost asleep when Jack speaks again. 

“You like me, right Mac?” There’s something odd about his voice when he asks that, but Mac’s too tired to parse it. “I mean you bitch about being friends with but… I’m a good friend, right?”

“Oh yeah, _real_ great friend. Let’s just forget the whole abandoning the Capital bit and you pretending to be someone else for _ten years,_ ” MacCready snaps sarcastically. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but apparently, he’s not quite over that. 

“Oh…right,” Jack murmurs, sounding small and Mac immediately kicks himself. 

He flips over. “Look, Jack, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you’re so _frustrating_ sometimes and yeah, we’re friends and I do like you. Do you honestly think I’d put with your shit if I didn’t?” Jack makes a harsh, hitching noise and Mac panics. “Oh, God...Jack, don’t cry. _Please._ You’re a great friend when you’re around. No one better, actually, but…ugh, can we not do this right now? You’re drunk and not thinking straight and—” Jack curls in on himself and starts crying, and Mac abruptly runs out of air for speech. 

“Everybody I love, _leaves,_ ” Jack says between hitching, sobbing breaths and it’s probably the most heart-wrenching sentence he’s ever heard. It makes something twist painfully in his chest; he’d do anything to stop Jack’s pain.

“That’s not true,” MacCready blurts. “There're Moira and Jonas, and you can’t tell me that Ellie wouldn’t fight a friggin’ deathclaw for you. There’s me and Duncan, and Codsworth, and Lucy…and, and Garvey, and Piper, and Magnolia, and Glory and hell, even Eden.” Mac puts a hand on Jack’s arm. “Fuck Valentine and fuck everyone else who said they loved you and didn’t have the balls to follow through. You're worth the trouble, Jack. Admittedly, it’s a lotta damn trouble, but you _are_ worth it.”

If Mac thought he’d get away with a teary smile and a watery huff of laughter from Jack, he’s instantly proven wrong when Jack launches himself into MacCready, wrapping bodily around him like some lagoon monster from an Old-World vid and redoubles his efforts to cry himself dry. For a moment, Mac doesn’t know what to do, surprised by the level of emotional forwardness Jack is currently displaying. Then, he decides that he should probably just hug Jack and ride the roller coaster until the end. After all, that’s what friends do and he did claim to be one of those.

In the morning, they have moved to cover separate sides of the bed. Jack’s belly down, still in last night’s clothes, while Mac mirrors him on the other side. He wakes, as he usually does, about thirty or so seconds before Duncan bursts into the room and has enough time to consider how much he misses having another warm body in the same bed and that Jack is headed for hangover hell—which if Mac is quick enough, won’t start with Duncan crawling on the bed, chattering about whatever dream he remembers from the night before. 

The bedroom door creaks as Duncan pushes it open further from where Jack left it half open the night before, and then MacCready hears Duncan pause as he catches sight of Jack. After a moment, Duncan’s soft footfalls carry him to Mac’s side of the bed. Maybe he underestimated Duncan’s surprise at seeing Jack in his room.

“Hey kiddo,” MacCready murmurs. 

“Da,” Duncan says quietly, eyes wide, “Why’s Jack in yoy bed?”

“He’s not feeling well.”

“Oh.” His face falls at the news. “How come?”

MacCready scooches backward on the bed a bit until he bumps into Jack’s side, and then lifts the covers in invitation for Duncan to join him and the kid quickly crawls into the spot Mac made for him. Once Duncan is settled, Mac answers his question, “He’s got a broken heart.”

Duncan considers that for a moment, then, “He should tell Stoyges to fix it. He says duct tape fixes evoything.”

Mac lets out a breath of laughter and kisses the top of Duncan’s head. “If it was only that easy.”

\- - - - -

The first day of tryouts, Lucy (their Lucy, that is) forbids MacCready and Jack from being on the same team. 

“You’re the best pitcher,” she tells Mac, “and he’s the best catcher. Together you’ll spell doom for the rest of us. We need a fighting chance.”

“Divide and conquer, huh?”

“Yep. Though, rest of us Little Lamplighters are still pretty good with a ball, bat, and gloves, so we’ll all be divided among the teams; don’t think this is all about you, Mac.”

“When isn’t it?”

She just rolls her eyes and steps up to her batting tryout. For a medico, she’s always been unnervingly good at hitting that ball. 

By the end of the day, Jack has everyone sorted into the three teams, him and Jack each captaining one, while Joseph captains the third. Jonas, Marcy, Pappy, and Billy Creel volunteer for umpire duty, and Jack quizzes them on the rules during the tryouts by making them work as umps. For the most part, they know what they’re doing, so their skill level is about the same as everyone else’s, and Marcy is going to be hardass, he can tell. She’s got third base locked down good. 

A schedule for team practices is set up for once a week for each of the teams (they really can’t afford more than that with all the work they have to do around town), with actual games set for every two weeks until harvest starts coming in. There isn’t going to be any sort of championship or tournament to close out their ‘season’ beyond the thrill of winning that individual game, but maybe next year when they have a better idea of what they’re doing they can set something up. It’s enough to just to get out onto the field and play. 

The best part, aside from actually playing the game, is that Jack has to be back in town once a week to practice with his team. Even though it’ll only for a few hours, it’ll still be good for him to be here more than just once a month. Harder for him to isolate himself or run himself into the ground doing every little thing that the Minutemen, the Railroad, and Eden ask of him. 

Two months pass in this fashion and it’s good. Great, even. The community starts to feel like a real community and not just three different groups cobbled together. There’s more excitement to get housing finished (though, they won’t get a house for everyone this year), Jonas actually pulls together that water purifier he’s been talking up and that gets people off MacCready’s back. The crops are coming in well, Moira has enlisted the help of Curie to research for her Survival Guide (she’s printing the latest issue now), Gob and Nova’s bar, Haven, opened last week, and Knick Knack and Sticky’s salvage teams are starting to bring enough scrap to sell to other communities. They even managed a pretty good birthday party for Jack in July that lit him up in a way that Mac hasn’t seen in a long time.

MacCready wouldn’t call their settlement successful, not yet anyways, but they’re doing a damn fine job of getting there. 

Then, like any good thing in life that goes on too smooth and perfect for too long, something comes along and knocks you down a couple of pegs. Not enough to knock your teeth out, but just enough to leave you reeling. 

It’s a beautiful, hot summer’s afternoon near the end of August, and MacCready’s team, The Lamplighters, are in a match against Joseph’s, The Schoolhouse Rockers. There won’t be too many more free afternoon’s after this to play a game. If they’re lucky, they might get in two or three more, so people are feeling the excitement as the season draws to a close. It’s the 6th inning and The Lamplighters are down two runs, but it’s their turn to bat so they should be able to close the gap and try to get a good lead. Or Mac has to pitch a perfect inning.

They all agreed after the first game of the season to play seven innings instead of nine. Nine is just too much for a single pitcher to pitch. Maybe next year they’ll work on training some relief pitchers, but for now, seven innings it is. 

The Lamplighters are pressed against the chain link fence that’s in a horseshoe around home plate to protect against wild foul balls, and waiting in line for their turn to bat. MacCready’s third, and chanting encouragements, rhymes, and rattling the fence along with the rest of the team as Lee takes his place in the batter’s box. Penny, who was first up to bat, is waiting impatiently on first base. 

The rest of town is settled in a mismatched assortment of chairs and benches around the foul lines on either side of the diamond, cheering and clapping as the game progresses. Those on the left side of the diamond, suddenly start to quiet until the whole side has stopped cheering to stare. MacCready turns to look for the source of the disturbance and finds Nick Valentine standing about 25 yards out, watching their game progress. He swears to himself and turns back to the game. 

“You’re not going to see what he wants?” Lucy murmurs to his left. 

“Nope.”

“And why not? He’s giving everyone the creeps.”

“Because he’s either lookin’ for a collar and I’m not about to interfere with that, or he’s lookin’ for Jack and fuck him if he is.”

Lucy sighs her _‘why do I even bother?’_ sigh and MacCready picks up a bat to warm up with, trying to ignore the sensation of being watched. A few moments later, he hears Valentine’s quiet footsteps behind him. 

“MacCready.”

“Valentine,” Mac grits out as Lee hits a solid ball out to left field and makes a dash for first. 

“Got a minute?”

“No. Kinda in the middle of somethin’ here.” He spares a look at the field as he swings. Lee’s safe, but The Rockers are trying to tag Penny out as she dives for third. 

“I’ll wait,” Valentine says mildly and lights a cigarette. Marcy declares Penny safe as the remaining batting lineup eye Valentine with varying looks of dislike and hate depending on how well they happen to know Jack. “What’s the score?”

“3-5.”

“How many innin’s left?

“This one and one more.”

Valentine nods and ambles over to the watch the rest of the game from the sidelines, getting dark looks the whole way. Since he got himself a shiny, new Courser body to replace the scrap heap of a one he had before, Valentine’s been fucking weird and way more unnerving to talk to than he ever was with half his face missing. It’s like all the lights are on but nobody’s home. MacCready never got the details of why he and Jack broke up, but he’s always suspected it had something to do with whatever was wrong with Valentine these days. Not that it excused the prick from breaking Jack’s heart. 

He’s ticked off enough by Valentine just showing up in Sanctuary Hills and acting like he didn’t _destroy_ the town’s VIP, that Mac manages a home run by channeling that anger and scores them three points. However, that same anger doesn’t do him any good as a pitcher and Valentine’s silent presence throws everybody’s game off. In the end, they lose by two runs and it's on MacCready. If he could just think straight...ugh. Poor Lucy, trying to direct his pitches and him fucking it up every time. 

As agreed among the teams, the losers have to pick up the plates and put the equipment away, so as soon as the game is done, everyone flees the field except for The Lamplighters, who are stuck enduring Valentine’s presence as they clean up. As Mac picks up the home plate, shaking off the sand, Valentine stops next to him. 

“Sorry ‘bout your loss.”

MacCready snorts. “What’da want, Valentine? And it better not be about Jack. If you’re lookin’ for some collar, fine, otherwise, fuck off.”

“I was in town for that,” Valentine agrees easily, MacCready’s bad attitude rolling off him like radiated sludge off a ghoul. “Your town watch is lookin’ after him for me.”

“Yeah? Who?” Mac asks, curious as he starts down the first base line.

“Kid named Ricky.”

“The new guy in town. What’d he do? Screw someone’s mom?”

“Owes big caps in bar tabs in Diamond City, Goodneighbour, and Bunker Hill. Marty overheard him talking about bilkin’ ‘those Capital Waster idiots’.” Valentine shrugs. “Only one place he could mean.”

“Nice,” Mac grumbles. Asshole. Maybe Hancock will shoot the little prick. Maybe he can _pay_ Hancock to shoot the little prick. “Still haven’t said what you want.”

“Need to talk to Jack.”

MacCready stoops to grab the first plate and says, “Fuck off.”

Valentine looks across the field to where Duncan and Codsworth are waiting. Duncan is trying to pick up one of the discarded bats but its too heavy for him yet and he succeeds only in dragging it around in the sand. 

“Though you were watchin’ your mouth.”

“Sometimes a good old fashioned swear conveys everything you need.”

Valentine nods as if that’s sage advice and follows MacCready as he starts down the second base line. “I really do need to talk to Jack.”

“Then do like the rest of us and contact Eden.”

“Did. Won’t pass my message on.”

MacCready barks a laugh. “Good. Might have to thank the A.I. bastard for that.”

Valentine stops him with a hand on his arm. “Look, MacCready I know you and Jack are friends, and he needs to understand that I’m not going to ‘get better’. He’s waiting for that. He thinks if he just holds out for a little longer that I’ll return to my old self and everything else’ll just fall into place and be as it was. But it took me 60 years to get used to that first synth body and this one…” Valentine glances around the diamond, an ironic little smirk on his face. “It’s a whole new ballpark.”

Mac pulls his arm from Valentine’s grasp, dropping the first and home base plates. “I’m not your fuckin’ advocate or messenger boy, and I’m not going to tell Jack that he should talk to you only for you to crush him all over again.”

“It wouldn’t keep crushin’ him if he wasn’t so damn stubborn. I wanted a clean break, for his sake, but—”

“Go _fuck_ yourself, Valentine.” Mac seethes; the anger that’s been simmering all evening starting to boil over. “You know exactly what he went through in the Capital and how many people have left him, and you thought it was possible to have a clean break? It’s been four months and he’s just started looking human again instead of that carbon copy, bullshit mask he wears when he can’t deal.”

“And do you think it’s gonna get any better if he holds on to the false hope that I’ll get over this…this _glitch_ in his damn lifetime?” Valentine barks and it’s the first real emotion he’s seen out of the man. It smooths out a second later, however and Mac hates him all the more for it. “Jack’s a big boy, MacCready. He doesn’t need you, or Henry, screenin’ his calls.”

“He also doesn’t need you telling him: ‘It’s not you, it’s me and my fucked up emotional processor.’ _Again._ Because you have, right? Two months ago? I was there for that fallout. You’ve already broken is his fuckin’ heart, Valentine, so how ‘bout you do somethin’ novel and leave him the hell _alone._ ”

Valentine stares at him for a moment like he’s seeing something he hasn’t before and Mac wishes, not for the first time, that he was a foot or so taller. He hates how easy it is for assholes to look down on him. Maybe Duncan will get a few more inches in height growing up in the sunlight than he did growing up in the dark. 

“So, that’s what this is about,” Valentine says, tone somewhere between musing and annoyed. “This new or have you spent the last decade or so pinnin’ for him? You couldn’t have been more than…what? Fourteen, when you first met?—” MacCready blinks at Valentine; surprise doesn’t even begin to cover what he’s feeling at this new conversation direction. “—So how ‘bout this, _merc,_ you do somethin’ novel and consider someone else’s needs before your own.” Valentine shakes his head with snort. “It might even end up serving you too, in the end.”

He walks away from Mac then, apparently satisfied he’s made his point. A point that MacCready doesn’t even know what to do with because it’s never crossed his radar before. Christ, Valentine’s programming must be really fucked up if that’s what he sees when he looks at Mac. He frowns at Valentine’s retreating form, cursing under his breath, before bending to grab the discarded base plates. When he straightens again, MacCready notes that everyone is looking at him. He sighs and moves to the pick up the last two base plates. 

Later, at the bar, The Rockers are already settled in and celebrating their victory. There are a few murmurings when MacCready and his team shuffle in, mostly concerning Valentine and what happened after they left. _Scuttled away, is more like it,_ Mac thinks with no little ire, but he sighs and takes a seat at a free table, pulling Duncan up to sit in his lap. Lucy, Moira, and Jonas join him and in the background, Codsworth and Nova flit around the bar handing out drinks and taking payments. 

“So, what did Nick want?” Jonas asks, looking serious. 

“Whadda think? He wants to talk to Jack, but Eden isn’t forwarding his messages.”

“Good,” Moira says with a nod. “He was so… after that last time.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, but…” MacCready runs a hand through his hat hair before pulling it back on and readjusting the bill. “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m actually sayin’ this, but maybe the P-R-I-C-K has a point.”

“And what point is that?” Lucy demands. 

“That Valentine isn’t going to ‘get better’ (his words) and that he thinks Jack is holdin’ out hope that he will.”

Moira sighs, looking sad. “Jack _does_ know that, he’s heard it enough times from me, Madison, and JH, but the heart wants what the heart wants.”

Moira and Madison Li were called to join Jack and Valentine in Far Harbour some five months ago when things went sideways. What exactly went wrong there, Mac doesn’t know and hasn’t asked (as curious as he is, he can see a minefield looming in that topic), but it was the start of Valentine and Jack’s problems. Or perhaps it wasn’t the start, but it was definitely _their_ end. 

“Maybe he needs to hear it from Nick instead,” Jonas says quietly.

“He has,” Moira replies, equally quiet, and the somber tone sounds horribly wrong coming from her mouth.

“Stubborn ass,” Lucy snaps, angry and sad all at once, forgetting for a moment that Duncan is at their table. His kid is quiet, tired from the days exertions and lack of nap. 

A mournful sort of smile curls in the corner of Jonas’ mouth as he adds, “Just like James.”

As Mac looks around the table, he silently curses Valentine once again. Their pain is nothing compared to Jack’s, but it exists all the same because Valentine hurt their friend, ripped his heart out for a ‘clean break’. MacCready’s certain he’s never hated any one person as much as he loathes Valentine. 

That’s one pre-war asshole who should’ve stayed dead.

\- - - - -

A few days later Jack shows up for his team’s weekly practice on a hot, _hot_ afternoon. Probably the hottest day they’ve had all year and MacCready is slowly roasting in his tin shack, too hot to even bother with a smoke even though he’s craving one. The shack has a window, and the door is propped open, but if they get another day of this heat, he’s going to move his desk outside and into the shade of the central oak in town—it’s leaves and branches provide a wide swath of shade all around. To be honest, he’s not even sure why he’s bothering with his paper pushing today. Since Jack rolled in, his mind has been so far from the scraps of paper about housing and water and food and trade that it might has well be on another continent. 

He has no idea what to say to Jack about Valentine’s visit and he doesn’t know if Jack’s team is going to mention that Valentine came by or what to do if they do. MacCready makes an ugly noise and drops his head to the desk top. He can’t decide if Jonas is right about Jack needing to hear it from Valentine or if he should listen to Moira and leave it be because Jack already knows exactly what Valentine wants to tell him. He hates being indecisive, it’s his ‘antithesis’, as Joseph likes to say, and the few times that he has been indecisive in his life, Mac has hated every second of it. He can’t even say what he’d want if he were in Jack’s shoes. 

He’s silently bitching about his current predicament, ( _how appropriate,_ he thinks sarcastically), when he hears someone tap on his open door. “Go away,” he mumbles, not moving his head to look. “Office’s closed.”

“I demand to speak with my elected representative,” Jack replies, a grin in his voice and MacCready sighs.

“I’m not elected so F-U-C-K off.” He flips Jack off from his semi-prone position on his desk and Jack laughs. He enters the office and pinches Mac’s outstretched arm.

“Hmm. Not done yet. I figure a couple more hours in this roaster outta do it, though. Unless, of course, you don’t want to be a cooked mirelurk.”

“I’m moving my desk into the shade of the tree outside,” Mac replies and gestures vaguely in the direction of the oak. 

“And I see you’ve gotten right on that.”

MacCready finally lifts his head from the desk, resigned to interacting with Jack while still debating what to do about Valentine. Jack’s covered in dust, sweat, and sand from practice and he looks as hot as Mac feels. 

“You volunteerin’ for the job?”

“Aw! Poor, beleaguered, Mic-Mac. No one to help you move your desk.” Jack plants his hands and leans forward on MacCready’s desk. “I might be persuaded to help you, for something in return.”

“You can’t have the rifle back.”

“No, no. That’s yours now and if I ever need someone to blow a hole in a suit of power armour I know who to call (don’t tell Glory I said that). I was actually thinkin’ ‘bout going for a swim in the river. Gotta get all this dust off before I head back—JH’s tryin’ to keep up the whole ‘sparkling white’ esthetic the Institute’s got goin’ on.”

“And get irradiated to high hell?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s part of its charm.”

MacCready gives him a doubtful look.

“Haven’t you been down to the river lately? Lucy’s handin’ out glowing fungus as a preventative measure. The whole town’s practically down there and here you are, roastin’ in this heat, _all alone._ ” Jack’s mouth quirks into a smirk and in the reflection of his sunglasses, Mac can see how…frowny he’s being. Seems silly since he doesn’t want to work anyways. He sighs.

“Ugh. _Fine._ Desk first, though.”

“Of course.”

The desk is small enough to fit through the door without any extra wrangling, which is why Mac picked it in the first place, and without the drawers in it, it’s relatively light. It’s still too fucking hot to be doing any kind of strenuous work and by the time they set it beneath the boughs of the tree, Mac’s drench in sweat and Jack is running rivulets of sand and dirt. They trudge back to the shack for the drawers and Mac’s chair, and once they have slid them back into place, Jack drags him toward the river. 

On this side of the bridge, Jonas’ water purification contraption is taking up a large swath of the river and Jack leads him along the bank and under the bridge to where a few makeshift docks have been cobbled together and the loud sounds of laughter and conversation drift down the water. Jack shoots him a look of _‘I told you so,’_ as they pass from the shade of the bridge and into a large group of townspeople enjoying the cool water. 

Lucy spots him from where she’s watching the group on the crumbling remains of the stone retainer wall and hops down. MacCready mentally adds it to the list of things they’ll need to repair in the future. Jack meets her halfway with Mac trailing behind, still doubtful about wading into the irradiated water. Glowing fungus or not. 

Lucy gives him a questioning look from around Jack’s frame as she says, “How did he manage to convince _you_ to come down here?”

“Bribery. How else?” Jack answers easily.

“Helped me move my desk.”

“Huh. If I’d known that was all it took…” she gives him a knowing smile and Mac frowns at her in confusion. “Here—” Lucy hands them each a chunk of dried glowing fungus. “It’ll help but don’t spend more than an hour in the water.”

“Yeah, like that’ll happen,” MacCready mutters and chews on the spongy mushroom with a look of distaste. Lucy rolls her eyes as Jack grabs his arm and pulls him down to the part of the river where the crowd is mostly thinned out. Codsworth catches sight of them on the way and brings Duncan along to the spot Jack’s picked out on the bank. And oh God, Codsworth has been letting Duncan wade in this water? Jesus, he needs to talk about priorities with that damn Handy. 

“Would you stop being such a stick in the mud, Mac?” Jack says with a laugh. He must have read the look on MacCready’s face. “You’ve gotten so uptight since you settled down here. Live a little.”

“And your version of life includes too much almost dying. I’ve got a kid to think about.” Mac eyes the water with a frown as Jack scoops Duncan up and spins him around, Duncan shrieking with sudden laughter.

“A little mutation never killed anyone. It’s how we survive.” Jack bops Duncan’s nose and he throws his little arms around Jack’s neck. “Besides, I’ve seen you wander around in the rain. This is practically the same thing.” Jack hands Duncan to him then and gives his sunglasses to Codsworth to hang on to before looking at his shoes. “Should probably leave them on, right? Rocks everywhere.” Then he takes off at a sudden sprint toward the river and launches himself off a large rock. 

Mac’s heart leaps into his throat as he shouts, “The water isn’t that—” Jack disappears with a splash that hits the dry rocks on the shore some ten feet away,“—…deep. What the…?”

Jack surfaces with a flourish, throwing water everywhere with a large smile, and Duncan laughs with delight. MacCready walks around the rock to get a better view of Jack treading water, then he looks down the rest of the river to where people are wading in, the water only up to their knees. 

“How’d’ja know that was there?” Mac asks as Duncan squirms to be let down. 

“Not my first rodeo, cowboy. It’s about nine feet deep in this one spot. Perfect for cannonballing into.” He shoots Duncan a stern look then, as he moves to stand at the edge of the river, the water running lazily over his shoes. “Don’t you dare. You learn to swim first, then you can come into this part. Big boys only.”

“But I am!” Duncan insists.

“Can you swim?”

Duncan crosses his arms and pouts, but he doesn’t move any further into the water. 

“That’s what I thought,” Jack replies with a smile. 

“I’ll keep watch, Master Robert,” Codsworth says and points his pincer at the water. “Please join Master Bertram. My thermal sensor indicates it’s 95.3 degrees out. Any manner of shade or cool water should be utilized.”

“Even if it’s irradiated?” Mac mutters but resigns himself to losing this particular battle. 

“The mushroom Mistress Lucy provided slows the absorption rate to acceptable levels. You needn’t worry. Just mind the time.”

MacCready sighs and then pats the side of Codsworth’s frame. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Certainly, sir.”

He divests himself of his pistol, extra clip, cigarettes, lighter, pocket watch, and the few caps that are jingling in the bottom of his jeans before stepping up to the edge of the bank. 

“Aw, come on Mac. You gotta jump. That’s half the fun,” Jack tells him from where’s he’s sitting at the edge of the deep spot, the river water flowing idly around him. 

“And if I miss?”

“ _Mac,_ ” Jack chastises with a laugh, “It’s like fifteen feet wide. Just jump! Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump,” he keeps chanting over and over, splashing the surface of the water with one hand. Duncan quickly takes up the chant as well, and MacCready knows he’s beat. 

“Alright, alright. Jeez.” He climbs on to the rock and Jack grins up at him from the water, pointing at his head. Oh, right. Mac pulls his cap off and tosses it behind him. From this angle, Mac can clearly see that this area of the river is dark, deep, and a bit murky from Jack disturbing it. 

“You know how to cannonball, right?” Jack asks when MacCready has dithered on the rock too long.

“Do I look like I swim on a regular basis?” Mac snaps. “I know how to not drown. That’s it.”

“Just jump and tuck your legs. It sorta makes a round shape. Like a cannonball. Or a baseball if you want. But a cannonball makes a bigger splash, which is basically the whole point.”

Duncan throws a handful of water in the air and yells, “Big splash, da!”

“Your adoring public awaits,” Jack tells him and splashes some water at Duncan, who immediately retaliates with a peel of laughter.

“Perhaps a countdown, sir?” Codsworth suggests and Mac nods. “Very well. 3. 2. 1—”

Against his better judgement, MacCready launches himself off the rock, aiming for the area in front of Jack, hoping the water is as deep as he said it was, and trying to tuck his legs. The momentum of the jump, propels MacCready to the bottom of the river, his shoes hitting the rocks there as he passes through several different temperature ranges, from tepid to cold at the very bottom where the water doesn’t move as fast. Using the river’s bed as a springboard, Mac launches himself back to the surface. 

“I’d give it about a six,” Jack says as Mac shakes the water from his head. “You didn’t even get Duncan wet.”

MacCready looks back at the shore where Duncan’s splashing water in Codsworth’s direction. “Was I supposed to?”

Jack nods. “If everyone in a ten-foot radius doesn’t get wet, it’s not much of a cannonball. Didn’t you ever swim in the Potomac?”

“ _No._ Why would I?”

“‘Cause then you’d know that for a score less than seven you get dunked.”

Mac barely has time for a confused, “What?” before Jack launches himself forward and plants his hands on MacCready’s shoulders, shoving him under the water. When he splutters back to the surface, Jack is cackling. 

“You S-O-B!” Mac snaps and propels himself at Jack, but he easily captures MacCready in a bear hug that leaves him struggling fruitlessly while Jack continues to laugh.

“The look on your face, Mac! I shall cherish it always.”

“Let me go and I’ll give you something to cherish, Jack.”

“I didn’t make up the rules. Become a better cannonballer and I won’t have to dunk you.”

“Yeah? This some sort of vault dweller BS?”

“Nope. Moira taught me and now I get to teach you. One day you can teach Duncan.”

“And you might even live to see it, _if_ you let me go.”

“So, you aren’t even gonna try for a higher score? Backin’ down from a challenge? _You?_ ” Jack tisks in his ear and Mac almost sighs again because he’s so ridiculously predictable. He actually wants to prove Jack wrong and bastard knows it. 

“Will you let me go if I agree to try again?”

“If you agree to be bound by the rules. My jump was clearly an eight. You can’t dunk me in retaliation for dunking you.” 

“Fine. But you have to stand on the shore.”

“Need somethin’ to shoot for?” Jack asks with a knowing grin and releases his frankly snake-like hold. “Okay. Give it your best shot, MacCready.”

Somehow, Jack’s challenge for him to get a score high enough to prevent Jack from dunking him again (which doesn’t happen his second or third attempt), turns into a competition for everyone down at the river either by participating or spectating. He’s not sure how he managed to go from being doubtful about the river to jostling for his position in line to try jumping _again,_ but that’s Jack’s...magic. MacCready really doesn’t know how else to say it because it seems like witchcraft at the best of times and downright diabolical manipulation at the worst. 

He’s standing in line with Joseph, right along the river bank, when Moira jumps off the rock again. Somehow, _somehow,_ she consistently manages nines and a few tens. She’s the best of the bunch. Better than Jack even and MacCready doesn’t understand it, she’s so _short_. How can she manage a splash that big? It drenches them as they watch and Mac frowns. 

“I don’t get it,” Joseph says to him, shaking his head. “It just doesn’t make logical sense. Splash size should correlate to mass.”

As she surfaces, a bright smile on her face that looks a lot like Jack’s, the crowd judging cheers back a whooping, “Nine!” and the next person in line moves onto the rock in preparation of their jump. 

“I know. I don’t get it either,” MacCready grumbles. If he could just learn her secret. They’re pretty close to the same height. He could be aces at this game if he could figure it out. Maybe she turns a little on impact or something; throws her shoulder into it? Ugh. Biwwy jumps from the rock and lands a solid seven, and they all move up in line again. 

Mac looks around for Duncan, thinking it’s been about twenty minutes or so since he last checked to make sure Codsworth was watching him. After a moment or so of scanning the river bank around them, he finds Duncan perched on Jack’s shoulders and as soon as MacCready catches his eye, Duncan waves. Mac raises his arm in return and shakes his head. Jack is far too easily swayed by that kid. He’s getting too old for being carried around like that, but Jack can’t say no to that kind of stuff. 

Joseph follows his gaze and Duncan waves at him too so Joseph makes a face in response, which Duncan mimicries with a laugh. At the river, Harden Simms hits the water with a splash that drenches them again, and the crowd gives him a respectable eight. Joseph shakes the water from the face as they move up in line. 

“He loves that kid almost as much as you do,” Joseph notes as he spares Duncan and Jack one last look before focusing on Penny’s jump. They both give a cheer as she jumps nice and high, hitting the water perfectly and creating another eight score splash. But from the look on her face as the crowd shouts the score, she’s trying to figure out Moira’s secret too. 

As they shake off that drenching of water, Mac replies, “So I noticed. A little too much, really, indulging him like that. As if Duncan isn’t spoiled enough. Friggin’ robot nanny and all.”

Joseph chuckles. “Yeah, maybe, but you could say the same thing about his dad.”

“If this is what spoiled looks like Joe, I’ll leave you to find someone else to lead this hovel.”

“No, you won’t. You don’t know what to do with yourself unless you're leading a bunch of bratty kids around.”

“You wish.”

“And you went and made one when you didn’t have us.” Joseph grins at him then, believing his point perfectly made, and Bumble jumps off the rock, hitting them with a small splash. (Which has the crowd split over whether it was big enough for a seven or if it’s a six and deserves a dunk.) MacCready rolls his eyes but looks back at Jack and Duncan and concedes that maybe Joseph has a point. Not about Duncan, but that Mac needs a group of people to herd. He always figured the reason he was restless as an adult was that hadn’t found what he wanted, but maybe it was because he already _had_ and then he turned sixteen and was kicked out into a world that didn’t need him. 

“And now I have you all and I wish I didn’t,” Mac replies for the hell of it, even though he doesn’t mean it. 

“Liar,” Joseph singsongs with a laugh. 

Another two jumpers and MacCready is back at the head of the line, getting ready to step onto the rock, but just then Lucy’s voice yells over the noise of the gathered people and informs them that their time in the water is up and has been for a while. There are some groans of protest, but everyone moves away from the bank and starts collecting their clothing and towels to head back up into town. As Mac gathers the things he pulled from his pockets into his hat, Codsworth hovers over, his jeans and t-shirt slung over one of his arms. 

“Your shirt is dry, Master Robert, but I’m afraid even this heat hasn’t yet managed the same for your pants.”

MacCready takes his shirt and slides it on—he’d stripped down to his boxers to get better height without his waterlogged clothing holding him back. “That’s fine. Hang it to dry at home. It’s too hot for jeans anyways.”

“As you say.”

Jack and Duncan wait for him on the old retainer wall near the bridge. “Lucky you I’m above ‘I told you so’s,” Jack tells him with a smug grin as he climbs up a broken part of the wall.

“If you really were, you wouldn’t have said anything just now.”

“Aw, come on. Let me crow a little. I _was_ right.”

“Shocking, I know.”

Jack snorts. “Can you believe your dad talks to me like that?” he asks Duncan.

“No,” Duncan replies and smiles at Mac. “Be nice, da.”

“You better remember who feeds you, kiddo,” Mac tells him with mock indignation.

“Codswoyth!” Duncan says and Jack bursts into laughter. 

“I’m not sure that’s what your father meant, Master Duncan,” Codsworth says drolly and that sets MacCready off laughing; Duncan isn’t wrong, after all. Mac’s cooking skills could fit into a thimble, so it’s better for everyone that Codsworth handles the food.

As they climb up the slight incline back to the center of town, MacCready falls behind them a little as he gets pulled into a short conversation with one of the guards on patrol, Dusty and his robot partner, Deputy Steel, about catching site of a few ferals near the Red Rocket station a mile or so down the road. After telling him to keep an eye on them for the rest of the day and stating that they’ll deal with the problem in the morning when the heat isn’t so bad, Mac continues up the road. 

Ahead, MacCready watches as Jack does a little shuffling side-step dance and bounces Duncan on his shoulders. He’s singing a song that Mac’s never heard on the radio, but that Jack used to sing when he visited Little Lamplight. He said once that his dad used to sing songs when he worked because the vault’s jukebox was busted and no one knew how to fix it, and that most of them, Jack has never heard anywhere else. 

“ _…Bring a smile and song for the banjo. Better get while the gettin’s good. Hitch a ride to the end of the highway, where the neon turns to wood…_ ”

Duncan clumsily sings along, obviously having heard the song often enough to have a minor grasp of the words, and MacCready smiles at their backs, something soft blossoming in his chest. It takes about two heart beats before he’s tripping over his own feet in surprise, Joseph grabs his arm and keeps him from fall flat on his face.

“Pebble one. Mac zero,” Joseph says with a laugh but MacCready hardly hears him. He’s staring in surprise at Jack and Duncan bouncing their way up the hill and that same soft feeling is expanding in his chest until Mac can’t breathe for the overwhelming pressure of it, the fucking _epiphany_ of it. Did he really? All this damn time? He feels heat crawl up his face and neck as he recalls Valentine’s scornful words. How did that bastard see it before him?

“Uh, Mac? _Mac._ MacCready?” He blinks at Joseph. “You alright? You’re lookin’ a little weird.”

“I…think I spent too much time in the heat,” Mac croaks. 

“Should I get Lucy? Or Red?”

Mac shakes his head. “No. Just—I’ll be okay. Rest. Ya, know?”

“Okay…” Joseph looks dubious but he lets go of MacCready’s arm. “I’ll walk you home.”

MacCready just nods. 

\- - - - -

Jack stays for supper (mac and cheese, which is what they always have if Jack has a say in it because apparently, all the underground crypt has is colourless sludge for food) before heading back to the Institute.Mac and Duncan walk with him back to the relay site with Mac quiet enough that Jack makes a passing comment about it. Now that he has two things on a scale from ‘maybe I should say something’ to ‘oh, hell no, I’m not talking about it with him,’ Mac can’t manage to spare the brain power for real conversation in case he might suddenly blab something he’s not ready to say. Or worse yet, Jack doesn’t want to hear. 

Before they move out of range of the relay’s electrical discharge, Jack gives him an odd look and says, “You haven’t reminded me of my visit date.”

“We have a ball game on Thursday, two weeks from now,” Mac dutifully replies, trying to shake himself out of his funk. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s a pain in the A-S-S when other people obfuscate, isn’t it?”

Jack’s eyebrows rise behind his sunglasses as he smirks. “Readin’ my books again?”

“There’s still at my house, aren’t they? And you brinin’ back the rest of the Poirot books or what?” He gestures between him and Duncan. “We’re through the ones you left.”

“Er…sorry. Forgot. Again. Ping JH, he’ll remind me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll remind your secretary. Go, before he sends some Coursers to kidnap you.”

Jack snorts and points at his Pip-Boy. Maybe it isn’t a good idea to constantly egg Eden, but MacCready isn’t about to play nice with someone who can’t be trusted, no matter how much Jack seems to. They step outside the burnt circle and wait several feet away for Jack to disappear in the showy crack of electricity, watching through the cracks of their fingers, and Duncan waves until there’s nothing left to wave at. When he’s gone, Duncan stares at the smoldering circle with a sad look on his face.

“I don’t like it when he leaves,” Duncan says.

“Me’neither, kiddo.”

Though, admittedly, he’ll make an exception this one time. MacCready needs some time to think without Jack around to distract him.

The next day, after he leads a group of guards to the Red Rocket just after dawn, Mac sits at his desk, under the cool shade of the oak and scrutinizes ever single interaction with Jack that he can remember, starting in Little Lamplight until now. It honestly seems so fucking _obvious_ now that he looks back on it, he wonders why no one has pointed it out to him before. Especially when they were teens in Little Lamplight. They should’ve been singing ‘MacCready and Jack, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…’ only no one ever did. Though he’s apparently gone about falling for Jack the wrong way around, baby first, love second, and oh God…it was _love,_ wasn’t it? 

Mac’s head hits the surface of his desk with a groan. How did he not see it? All this time? And why now? This is just the _worst_ timing. 

By the time lunch rolls around, Mac has had enough of pretending to work and heads over to Lucy’s and Red’s newly built clinic/house (which was the condition of building any place that wasn’t strictly a house, it had to house someone. Like the bar, Haven, it doubles as Nova’s and Gob’s home). They were still moving their things and equipment to the new place and MacCready figures if he can’t be useful at his desk, he might as well be useful in moving boxes. 

He finds Lucy at their old place that she shared with Red, Bittercup, Éclair, and Sanctuary resident, Wendy. (He supposes they are all technically Sanctuary residents now, but it’ll take longer than a year to make them feel like it.) She’s throwing some things into a box without much care for their breakability and talking to herself about what else she needs to remember to move. 

“Want a hand?”

Lucy looks up from the box. “Sure. Grab something. It all needs to go.”

He spends the next few hours helping Lucy and Red move, along with a few other volunteers, until the heat of the day is too much and Lucy calls its quits and dismisses their helpers with orders of lots of water and shade. She takes a seat on a random chair and Mac sinks into other in what will be the main clinic. Red goes back to their old home to finish her packing and look after her daughter Zoey, so she’s ready for the next, and hopefully last, push tomorrow. 

Mac twirls lazily in the chair, looking at the place. “Glad to have your own space?”

“Duh. Not that Wendy hasn’t been the best, but…” Lucy shrugs. “It’s hard to look after people while tripping over each other.”

“No doubt.”

“You gonna spend the winter freezing in that shack or what?”

“Probably. I’ve got a house. It’s not a priority.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Until we find your frozen corpse and the whole community is screwed.”

“We scrounged a stove. It’s won’t be that bad.”

“See my previous comment.”

MacCready huffs a laugh. “I’m fine,” then he sighs. “With that anyways.”

“Uh oh. Somethin’s wrong.”

“It’s just…ugh. Am I that obvious?”

Lucy raises an eyebrow. “You're as obvious as a brahmin in a china shop, Mac, but you’re gonna have to be a _bit_ more specific.”

MacCready throws his head back with a groan and says, “Jack.”

Lucy bursts into laughter. “Oh my God, _yes!_ It’s been like ten years and you just figured it out?” Her laughs echo around the clinic and MacCready gets a little mulish. Did she have to laugh so hard? “Not only are you obvious, you’re also, apparently, blind. Did you just come by this epiphany, or what?”

“…Yeah.”

“Oh, Mac,” Lucy puts a hand on his arm. “You are a darling man, truly, but sometimes I swear you’re as dense as concrete.” She starts laughing again.

“Laugh it up, why don’t’cha?” Mac mutters and then puts his hands on his face. “What am I gonna do?”

“Well, you could tell him.”

“While he’s still madly in love with Valentine? I’m not a friggin’ sadist.”

“It’s been five months.”

Mac gives her a look. “Which isn’t enough time to be ready for something else, let alone that someone confessing their undying love. I know what it’s like to lose someone and I can tell you it’s not even close to enough time.”

“So, you’re just going to pine from a distance?”

“I can’t put myself first in this.”

Lucy looks at him like he’s the most adorable thing she’s ever seen. “Aw, you are such a softy under that ‘I don’t give a shit,’ exterior. Jack doesn’t know how lucky he is.”

“Not helpin’, Luce.”

“Well, I already told you what I think you should do. And I bet it won’t be half as bad as you think.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t even told him Valentine came by lookin’ for him, so I won’t be sayin’ anythin’ about this other thing for a while. If ever.” Mac mutter that last bit to himself, but she still hears it. 

“Whaddya mean by that?”

MacCready spins his chair away from her so he doesn’t have to look at her face when he says, “I’m not on his…level.”

“Oh please,” Lucy scoffs. “When did love ever care about that? And Jack’s already mad for you and Duncan. Do you honestly think he’s gonna hold a candle for that…that _fool_ when he can have you?”

“Careful. I’ll start thinkin’ it isn’t just me who’s got a crush ‘round here.”

Lucy punches his arm. “Get over yourself, Robert. And then start thinking better of yourself because you are worthy of Jack and all the happiness that you want.” Mac rubs the sore spot on his arm and her expression softens. “You do know that Lucy’s death doesn’t mean that you don’t get to be happy, right? That’s not what she would’ve wanted.”

“Yeah. Most days, anyways.” 

It feels a bit disloyal sometimes, but he’s stopped feeling that sharp pain in his chest every time he looks at Duncan. He still thinks of his Lucy every day and probably will forever, but it doesn’t feel like he’s drowning in an ocean of grief anymore. Just days when a wave crests his knees or hips, but he can handle that. It’s terrible, but he can handle it. And really, pinning for someone isn’t half as hard as grieving for someone, so he can handle that too.

Things are almost normal for those two weeks Jack is gone, only popping in for practice for two hours a week later. Mac doesn’t even see him that day save to wave as he heads to the diamond, but that doesn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat.

September starts out just as hot as August ended and Mac’s outdoor workstation is fantastic. It gives him plenty of excuses to leave his desk and wander around the town to watch the progress of the last three houses they’ll get up before it snows, check on harvest, patrol the outskirts of town, and go on a couple hunting expeditions into the surrounding wood for radstags and to capture wild chickens for Maggie Creel’s coop.

Last winter was pretty lean for the former Capital Wasters between trying to get things together to travel to the Commonwealth and finding someplace to settle, but this year with an actual home, they’ll have much better stores of food and caps for bartering. 

Their ball game coincides with Jack’s monthly return to Sanctuary, and Mac is certain that these two weeks are going to be hell. He’s never been love sick before and it’s an awful sensation. His Lucy was the one who charmed him. For whatever reason, she saw something she liked in him and he honestly never knew what it was. MacCready pretty well successfully ignores the sensation while Jack’s gone, lots of things to distract him, but the moment Jack arrives back in town, Mac slides from mostly composed to flustered in a blink of an eye. 

He’s on the pitch warming up when Jack arrives at the diamond, so of course, his next pitch flies wild and hits the chain link fence behind Lucy. As she runs to collect the ball, Mac swears at himself and when she tosses it back at him, he can tell that she’s laughing at him. Even through her stupid mask. MacCready’s already resigned himself to a loss today. He’s just not going to be able to concentrate and he feels like apologizing to everyone because of it. He manages to put the rest of his warm up pitches in Lucy’s glove, but just barely. It’s so obvious that’s his game is off that when they switch teams for warm-up, Wendy asks him if his arm is injured when they trade places on the mound. Mac mutters something mostly incoherent in response.

“So, we’re screwed, aren’t we?” Lucy asks in a low, laughing voice as they stretch off the pitch.

MacCready groans. “Please don’t make this any worse than it already is.”

She chuckles. “If we’re gonna take a loss today, I plan on getting my entertainment somewhere.”

“A little sympathy would be nice.”

“We’ve only got two games left this season, and this one’s a wash. You can have sympathy when you can pitch properly again.”

He deserved that. “I’ll do my best.”

Lucy just laughs.

There’s one thing in particular that MacCready’s not looking forward to in this game and it happens exactly like clockwork the moment he steps up to the box to bat. Earlier, they flipped for first at bat and of course, The Wanderers (Jack’s team) won the toss. The first half of the first inning goes about as well and Mac expected it would. Meaning that just about everyone manages a hit off his horrible pitching, and the only reason The Wanders haven’t already been declared the undisputed winners of the game is because the rest of MacCready’s team is pulling together for some fantastic plays. 

In the second half of the inning, they’ve already had two batters up, Penny’s waiting on third and Lee’s on second, when it’s Mac’s turn to bat. As he settles in the box, tapping the end of the bat on the ground, the remaining lineup chanting rhymes to keep their energy high, Jack starts talking to him. Even though every time he does it, he gets a warning from Jonas.

“So whaddya think, Mac? Curve? Fastball? Change-up? What’re you feelin’ today?” Jack asks as he pounds his glove a couple of times.

MacCready rolls his shoulders and reminds himself that he can act normal. “I’ll take a fastball if you’re feelin’ generous.”

“Ha! And let you hit it into the lake so we have to argue over whether or not that means it’s still in play? I think not.”

“Then quit talkin’ and pick somethin’.”

Jack chuckles. “Just who do you think is runnin’ this show?”

Mac opens his mouth to reply when Wendy’s pitch comes zooming by him and lands with a solid _smack_ in Jack’s glove and a second later Jonas is called out, “Strike one!” Sonuvabitch. Why does he always fall for that?

“Jack,” Jonas warns a moment later, even as said idiot laughs lowly. “Talk again and I’ll let MacCready walk to first,” and how embarrassing would that be? Lucy would kill herself laughing.

Jack mimes zipping his mouth shut and MacCready turns his focus to Wendy. Or tries to anyways. Jack’s presence prickles along his spine with a mix of dread and anticipation. This time when she pitches, Mac swings…and misses, and then curses. 

“Strike two!” 

Jack chuckles at his swears, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to test Jonas, who would waste no time in rapping him on the metaphorical knuckles.

MacCready steps back from the batter’s box as Jack throws the ball back to Wendy, and takes a moment to gather his composure again. Jonas signals a timeout while he’s back from the box and Jack stands from his crouch, twisting out his back. Mac’s team calls out words of encouragement from the slide lines and Lucy tells him to hit one out into the lake. 

“Make those lazy outfielders work for it!” she yells with a laugh that gets a bunch of echoing cheering from the remaining line up. The noise of it helps loosen him up a bit and get into the frame of mind for the game.

MacCready steps back up to the box, tapping his bat on the ground and readying his stance. “How’a ‘bout a curve ball, Jack?” he asks, knowing Jack will purposefully pick something else, probably a change-up, and they’ve been working with Joseph’s team on hitting those because Wendy has been killing them _all_ with her pitches. He’s suddenly feeling lucky.

Jack makes a humming noise that’s neither an agreement or disagreement and MacCready can feel Jonas’ eyes on his back, probably two words away from telling Mac to shut his gob too. Wendy winds for her pitch and he can already see it isn’t a curve ball, it looks a bit like a fastball, but a change-up moves slower so he has to wait for a split second longer before swinging to hit it. It’s not a conscious act, but muscle memory from practice. 

He feels the vibrations of the ball striking his bat more than he hears it since the noise isn’t the satisfying _crack_ of a solid connection. It’s sort of winged his bat and shot off into left field, but a hit is a hit and MacCready drops the bat as he takes off for first. Defensive plays for Jack’s team aren’t as solid as their offensive game, so Penny manages to slide into home a second before Jack catches the ball from Princess. Lee lands safely on third, while Mac hits first with no issues. They should have another run to their name if Lucy manages a hit. 

And she does, but it’s high and Sturges catches it out in far left field before throwing it home to try and catch Lee out for a double play, but Lee is quick and slides into home before Jack catches the ball. MacCready makes it to second with little fanfare. He considers going right to third while they worry about Lee, but it’d be just his luck to get tagged out, so he decides to play it safe and wait for Silver to bat. 

Silver is their best outfielder, she’s got a hell of an arm, and usually manages a nice long hit at bat. Of course, Jack and Wendy know this so they’re always trying to strike her out, especially if the bases are loaded because they’ve won a few games with her ability to hit home runs. 

As Silver steps up to the left batters box (her and Jack are the only lefties in their league), the team starts chanting her name and clapping their hands. Mac gets ready to run, leading the base a few paces. The first pitch is a strike, but only because Silver didn’t bother swinging for it. She likes to try psych out the pitcher and catcher by ignoring the first or second pitch completely, regardless of what is thrown. The second pitch Silver catches with a solid hit to right field and she takes off for first, while Mac runs to third. Knick Knack grabs the ball as it bounces along the ground and throws to Timebomb, but he fumbles the ball and Silver pushes on to second as MacCready rounds third for home. 

Wendy is shouting for Timebomb to throw for home as he picks up the ball. Jack is ready to catch the ball and as it lands in his glove he moves to block home plate. Fuck. Mac’s already committed to going for home, so he’ll have to try and knock the ball from Jack’s grasp. Never mind that he’s got like six inches and 40 pounds on Mac. He pushes hard the last six feet before dropping into his slide, feet first, a little to the right of Jack so he can slide around him slightly and give him a shove from the side to make him loose balance in his crouch. 

Somehow, MacCready manages the right amount of space between Jack and himself, and as he slides by, he twists his weight and puts his knee into Jack’s thigh just as Jack is twisting to swipe tag Mac with his glove. Which has the unfortunate side effect of making Jack buckle right on top of him, knocking the air out of him as Jack’s elbow hits him squarely in the gut. As Mac lays on the ground, gasping for air, Jack’s weight awkwardly on top of him, he knows his foot is on home plate and MacCready desperately looks around for the ball, hoping that it might be on the ground and not in Jack’s glove. Funnily enough, it isn’t the ball that tells him his crash was a success, but rather the cheer from his team that happens a split second later. 

Jack rolls off of him with a groan and MacCready raises a hand to acknowledge the cheers, but any good humour won from this victory is quickly stolen by Jonas declaring him, “Out!”

What?! MacCready sucks in a few frantic breaths of air and double checks the area for the ball. Did Jack manage to hang on to the fucking thing? He spots it lying a few feet from them, outside of Jack’s glove. Mac drags himself into a sitting position and gasps, “What the hell? The ball’s right there.”

“You perpetrated a malicious hit against the opposing team’s catcher, MacCready. I won’t stand for that in this game. You’re out.”

“A malicious hit? Are you fu-riggin’ kiddin’ me? At worst, it was an unfriendly shove! He was blockin’ the plate. What the hell was I supposed to do? Slide into a friggin’ concrete wall and hope for the best? He’s got six inches on me.”

“And what would you say if someone tried to do the same to Lucy? Or Joseph? There'd be a lot more than just a bruised ego to worry about then. I can’t let you set a precedent.”

Mac shifts from incredulous to mad in an instant. “As if anyone would be worried about them blocking the plate. Lucy doesn’t even do that because she knows that at her size a swipe tag is more effective and sliding into Joseph is a fifty-fifty chance he’ll drop the ball, but when half the players in the league are my size and smaller, there’s no way we’ll get runs when Jack blocks the plate!”

“Jonas…” Jack says as he stands, holding a hand out for MacCready and pulling him upright. “He took the brunt of that hit, anyways. Doesn’t it seem a little silly to further penalize him?”

“No. If every one of The Lamplighters try the same thing, how well do you think you’d fare?”

Jack winces a bit. “Yeah, okay. Not great, but how often do you block the plate a game? Twice? Three times? This gives us an unfair advantage.”

“Then stop blocking the plate,” Jonas replies, ever calm about the situation. Then he looks at Mac. “Why are you still on the pitch, MacCready? You’re out.”

Mac stomps of to the sidelines, too angry to worry about the pain in his gut from Jack’s elbow or the fact that he can still feel Jack’s hand in his own from where he helped him up. 

“This is B.S. I was safe, damnit!” Lucy is grinning at him as he takes a seat on their bench and he snaps at her, “What?”

“You’re pissed off.”

“No shit.”

She claps him on the shoulder and says with great smugness, “Now, we’re gonna _win._ ”

Silver manages a run as she slides into home, but MacCready isn’t sure if she earned it on her own merits or if Jack purposefully fumbled the ball in solidarity with their team over Jonas’ call. If that’s the case, it just pisses Mac off even more. They don’t need charity, damnit, and he’s going to prove it.

By the time the middle 7th inning rolls around, the teams are tied at 6-6 with two on. MacCready sliding into home is what gave them the tie (without touching Jack, thank you very much), and now it’s up to Sammy to bring their last run home needed for their win. So of course, he caves under the pressure of it all and strikes out. Mac’s a bit ticked, but lets out a sigh and shakes off the anger. There’s a reason Sammy’s in the middle of the line-up, neither first or last. The kid hasn’t been the same since he and Squirrel were captured by slavers and anything that must be accomplished under pressure is just something he can’t deal with. A solid hitter, though when there isn’t any real skin in the game.

One of these days, Red will convince Sammy to stop by and talk for longer than the ten seconds it takes to say, ‘I’m fine,’ but not before he’s ready for anything more than that. 

From the bases, Silver and Lucy cheer for Sammy despite his strikeout, and the rest of the team claps, echoing their sentiments. Things are tense, however, when Luke (another one of the original Sanctuary residents) takes his place in the batter’s box. They’re all hoping for that one hit that will get Lucy and possibly Silver home for the winning point. While Wendy and Jack do everything they can to strike their batters out, and every one of them that they do is one less chance for them to succeed. Mac’s own hands are clenched tightly around links of the chain-link fence as he watches the game unfold before them, hoping that they don’t blow this.

Kimba starts chanting in a low, but distinguishable voice, “Luke, Luke, Luke,” and pretty soon the rest of the team is doing it too; all in that same low voice so it almost starts to sound like the distant rumble of thunder. At first, MacCready wonders if it freaks Luke out a bit because it’s a swing and a miss his first go, but the second is solid ground ball that goes skipping off to left field. Sturges picks it up and throws it home to Jack, who catches it just as Lucy starts to slide into home. 

They all wait with baited breath as she slides in and Jack tags her with the ball. With the dust from the sand and gravel chips, no one can tell if Lucy hit the base before Jack got her. Then Jonas calls clearly above the hush, “Out!” and there’s a collective groan and hissing from The Lamplighters as Lucy gets a hand up from Jack and trots back to the bench. 

“He got me before I hit the plate. It was a fair call,” Lucy tells them as she takes her place on the fence next to Mac, not looking happy about it being out. “It’s his damn long arms,” she huffs. “You just can’t get out of his reach.” There’s a murmur of agreement from the rest of the team before their focus shifts to the batter’s box again, where Kimba is taking her place.

She swings her bat a few times back from the box to get a feel for it, and Penny starts chanting for Kimba, the same way she started the chant for Luke, aided by Dusk and River, Kimba and Flash's twins. On third, Silver looks at Jack and points at herself than at him, telling him in no uncertain terms that _‘I’m comin’ for you.’_ Kimba gets into position, Jack crouches down, and Wendy readies herself as the two of them have a silent conversation as to what she should throw. It takes but a moment for a decision to be reached, then Wendy winds up and pitches. Kimba strikes the ball with a hard hit that sends it hurtling back toward Wendy, who ducks to get out of the ball’s path. She shakes her head a moment later, angry at herself for not trying to catch it as it arcs down toward Flash. 

Flash has to dive to catch it before it hits the ground in front of him and manages it with all the grace of floundering fish. Kimba sees it from her run to first and stops running. Silver on the other hand is making use of the almost fumble to make a mad dash for home. Flash scrambles upright, Wendy dashes off the side of the pitcher’s mound to make way, while Jack, ready for the catch, is looking little impatient for the throw. The ball lands in his glove a moment later, and Jack twists as Silver dives and slides for home. MacCready thinks Jack missed as she sank out of range and has to either continue the momentum all the way around his body, or throw his arm the other way to catch her from behind. 

More dust and gravel obscure the play from their sight and another deep hush falls on the crowd. Kimba was their third out, if Silver doesn’t make the plate, they’ll have to play an overtime inning and will have given their victory away.

“Safe!” Jonas calls out a moment later and The Lamplighters burst into whoops and hollers as Silver jumps up and throws both her hands into the air. Half the crowd cheers for their success and as Kimba walks back to the bench, Silver throws an arm around her shoulders and leads them both back to the cheering team.

\- - - - -

They’re all happily entrenched in bar by the time The Wanderers have finished putting away the equipment, and in what has become a bit of a tradition, Jack buys everyone in the bar a drink. He seems to have an almost endless supply of caps, and it bothers Mac that he either isn’t spending anything on himself and therefore ends up with more caps than he knows what to do with or he has Coursers just pickpocketing every Wasteland asshole they find. Hell, it could be both because Jack sure as shit doesn’t get paid to be the benevolent dictator of the Commonwealth.

In the background, WRVR is playing _Chain Gang,_ but Sam Cooke’s voice isn’t heard over the din of excited conversation save for the _‘hooh ahh’_ and the ping sound of a pickaxe hitting a rock. MacCready sits at his crowded table, feeling a bit spaced out after the afternoon’s exertion in the heat, watching Jack move through the bar like a pinball in one of those Old-World arcade games, easily bouncing from one group of people to the next. His good mood bleeding out to others as he goes, but he’s seemingly untouched by anyone in particular. 

After a moment, Mac looks away, in case he gets caught staring, and pauses for a minute on the conversation happening at his table but nothing they’re talking about really catches his attention so he moves on to where Duncan is seated, at a table nearby with Sanctuary’s other kids: Eddie Creel, Red’s daughter Zoey, Dusk, River, and Bobby (who was just left in Big Town one day a couple years ago and as since been adopted by Timebomb). Duncan’s the youngest of the group, but they don’t much care at that age. Eddie likes to lord over them occasionally, being that’s he’s ten and doesn’t let anyone forget it, but he’s also outnumbered and frequently outvoted on games and such so Mac doesn’t worry about it. 

There’s something weird about his mood right now. MacCready should be feeling a sense of victory for their win tonight, but he doesn’t feel anything in particular. He’s not unhappy or anything, just…restless, maybe. Impatient with having to sit here and engage in the festivities, and energy low. MacCready checks on Duncan again, but he’s chittering away at Bobby and seems to be having the time of his life right now (days like today usually see him without an afternoon nap and he’ll crash as soon as he gets home again), so Mac feels a bit guilty about dragging him out of the bar because he suddenly can stand the heat and noise of the place.

MacCready stands from the table, the noise of his chair scrapping along the floor mostly lost in the din, but Lucy shoots him a questioning look from across the table. He just shakes his head, hoping that will convey something meaningful to her. She gives one-shouldered shrug in return and nods, then points behind him. Codsworth is moving toward a table with some drinks and sandwiches on a tray and when he’s finished (he usually pulls double duty on afternoons like this helping Gob and Nova out), Mac flags him down.

“Something I can do for you, Master Robert?”

“It’s too hot in here for me. Can you watch Duncan for a half hour? I’ll be back to fetch him for supper.”

“Certainly, sir. Truth be told, I always have one eye on him.” Codsworth chuckles and moves one eye stalk in a weird mimicry of a wave. 

Mac manages to hold back on an eye roll. Somehow. “Those humour emitters still need some work, buddy, but I appreciate the sentiment. And, thanks.”

He weaves through the few tables until he’s right behind Duncan and puts a hand on Duncan’s shoulder to catch his attention. “Havin’ fun, kiddo?”

“Yeah!”

“Good. I’m gonna get some air. I’ll be back to get you for supper. Codsworth is here if you need anythin’.”

“Okay, da. Can we have cake for suppoy?”

“Uh, no.”

Duncan makes a pouty face, but in the next moment Bobby is talking to him again and Duncan’s expression immediately smooths out. Mac drops a kiss on the top of his head and makes his way to the door. 

The afternoon heat hasn’t lessened much in the hour so since they left the diamond and the sun is feels especially bright after the relative dark of the bar. MacCready stares out at town for moment, unsure as to what he wants to do now that he’s out of Haven. He’s almost tempted to jump in the river, just once, to cool off and get the sand and dirt from his clothes. And honestly, that doesn’t sound so bad now that he thinks about it, so Mac heads down to the river. It’s not far from where they built Haven, about the first building you notice when coming into town, so a few hops down the sloped hill has MacCready at the bank. 

There’s not a lot jingling in his pockets today, but the few things that are, he leaves on a medium sized rock. While Mac take his hat off, he keeps it in his hand because it’s drenched in sweat and could use a good dunking. With his things safely set aside, Mac climbs the rock that marks the location of the river’s deep spot and jumps in. The cool water feels good on his hot skin, and MacCready lingers at the bottom of the river, where the current is slow, for a moment before pushing back up to the surface. 

“Eight!” 

Mac turns and finds Jack on the bank. He’s pulling a few items from his pockets and leaving them next to MacCready’s things.

“Move back a bit,” Jack tells him as he climbs the rock. “Don’t want to hit you.” 

Mac moves down the river a bit, until he bumps into the edge of the hole, and takes a seat on the river bed, the water flowing around him. Jack leaps off the rock and drenches MacCready in water. He shakes it off and then pulls on his hat. 

“Eh…that was a seven,” Mac tells Jack as he surfaces. 

“You lie. That was totally an eight. Nine, even.” Jack moves with the current of the river and takes a seat on the bed next to Mac. “Probably shouldn’t linger that long in here.”

“Yeah,” Mac agrees but they don’t move to get out of the water right away. It’s nice and cool compared to the heat of the waning afternoon, but not cold like Mac imagines the lake it empties out into is. “Was the Potomac like this?”

“Wider and deeper, but yeah. Also, it didn’t irradiate you when you swam in it. And the current was kinda fast in some spots, so you could ride an inner tube down the river for a long while. That was fun.”

“So, not really the same at all.”

Jack sort of laughs. “A river is a river, Mac, and I’m sure Jonas is workin’ on a way to clear the radiation from it, and the lake, permanently. One day you’ll be able to swim in it without worrying about rad levels. Speakin’ of which…” Jack shifts to get his feet under himself and stands. He holds out a hand for Mac and gives him a yank up. They move out of the water then, clothes heavy and shoes squishy with it. 

They make their way back to their small pile of things and Jack stoops to grab his few caps and his sunglasses. As he straightens, Mac’s mouth goes dry. Every lean line is on display as the soaked t-shirt clings desperately to Jack’s frame, the width of his shoulders, his waist, the indentation of his belly button, with the shape of his thighs clearly visible in his worn jeans. MacCready has always appreciated a fine form, but he honestly hasn’t looked on anyone with unadulterated lust since his Lucy charmed her way in his life and he has to blink and look away so he doesn’t get caught staring. Pulling his hat low to hide the blush on his face, Mac quickly grabs his own things, and shakes a cigarette out of his half-crushed pack so he has something to concentrate on.

As they start up the bank, MacCready lights his cigarette and sucks in a greedy lungful, holding it in for a beat as he tries to find some self control. He’s going to be a wreck for the next two weeks if this is any indication. They don’t say much on the walk back to Mac’s house, but Jack does ask about supper and Mac tells him (in what he’s proud to say is a very casual voice) that it’s radstag sandwhiches. Codsworth cooked up a roast the other day and they’ve been eating it cold ever since now that they have a working fridge curtesy of a solar generator.

The house is dark and somewhat cool when they return. The windows are boarded up to help keep the summer hot out and hopefully the winter cold as well. When Jack pulls some dry clothes from the couple dresser drawers that have somehow become his and ducks in Duncan’s room to change, it suddenly strikes MacCready how completely Jack has made himself at home. 

His books have slowly come to line the shift out in the dining nook, there’s extra plasma cells and caps on the dresser that Jack has forgotten to take with him the last couple times he’s been here, he’s been ensconced in Mac’s bedroom since he drunkenly declared it much nicer than the couch because MacCready hardly has the heart to tell him to go back to sleeping on it, his clothes are in Mac’s dresser, his Pip-Boy has been discarded on the dining table the moment he arrived, Babe Ruth’s baseball bat is leaning against the wall next to the front door (God forbid they use it in a game, but apparently if Jack needs to knock someone’s block off that’s totally fine), and that stupid bird statue sits glaring at them all from the bookshelf. 

Jack doesn’t just visit MacCready’s house, he _lives_ in it and Mac didn’t even notice.

He’s knocked from his surprising discovery by Jack rapping on the door as he goes by. “Come on,” he says, voice raising as he moves away. “We should peel Duncan away from his friends and poke some food into him before he crashes.”

“Comin’,” Mac calls back, mostly on autopilot and starts pulling off his wet clothes, staring at the room in a whole new, terrifying light. When he’s dressed again, he takes his wet bundle outside and throws them over the clothesline. He doesn’t bother with pins, but Jack shakes his head and pins his shirt down. 

“Do you wanna chase it halfway down the street?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and Mac shrugs. He doesn’t usually. He makes Duncan fetch them when they’ve blown off the line. Mac is the one who washes them, Duncan needs to be apart of the effort somewhere.

After they’ve had an early supper and Duncan is down for his nap, Jack and MacCready sit in the shade of the carport (it’s relatively empty these days, much like Mac’s house, but there are still a few things kicking around in ‘storage’) in a pair of lawn chairs that have seen better centuries. Jack has a pair of gaudy blue shorts on with little tropical islands all over them and for reasons Mac can’t comprehend, Jack thinks they’re the greatest piece of clothing he owns. He doesn’t often get to wear shorts, even on the hottest days, so unlike his bronzed arms and face, Jack’s legs are akin to a snow drift on a sunny day: blindly white. Mac has a pretty even tan going himself, having more opportunities for shorts on days he isn’t expected to be on patrol or hunt. 

Between the two of them, they drink fours beers as they watch Sanctuary move around them before Duncan wakes again. Not that there’s much going on now, or ever really, but its nice to just sit and relax. Like this, Mac can almost forget that Jack has anywhere else to go or anyone else to be. There’s no General of the Minutemen here, or Director of the Institute, and MacCready hopes that Jack can even lay down his Lone Wanderer mantle as well for most of the two weeks he spend in town a month. 

Mac lets Duncan play in the park until nine and the sun is well on it’s way to being set before calling him back for bed. As he rassles Duncan into his pajamas, the kid complains about not being tired and wanting to spend longer outside and that Eddie gets to go to bed at ten, so why can’t he? To which Mac replies that he doesn’t care what time Eddie goes to bed, he’s not Eddie’s father. Jack finds the whole thing amusing and chuckles at the exchange from where he’s leaning against the doorway. Despite all his protests, Mac barely makes it through the first chapter of _Hickory Dickory Dock_ (Jack helpfully providing both Poirot’s and Miss Lemon’s voices, much to Duncan’s delight) before the kid is fast asleep.

They spent an hour or so on cards after, while Codsworth putters around in the background before they’ve got a case of the yawns and call it a night. As they’re readying for bed, Jack shows him, with great delight, the bruise that MacCready’s knee has left on his leg. A mostly red spot the size of a baseball that slowly starting to turn purple. 

Mac flushes at first because Jack has to lift the side of his boxers to show it off, then with great effort, he shrugs and says, “Don’t block the plate, then,” and Jack laughs. 

“Yeah?” he questions, “And what about your injury? Or, should I say, just desserts?”

Mac pulls back a bit at that. He doesn’t want to show Jack the bruise that’s forming on his stomach from getting elbowed. That seems far too personal. A month ago, he wouldn’t have blinked twice at such a request and would already be showing it off, but now? He blushes at the thought of it. What if Jack wants to touch it? He practically drove Mac crazy reading over his shoulder, close enough to feel his breath along the back of MacCready’s neck, arms resting on the back of Mac’s chair…he’ll give himself away for sure if Jack touches him. 

“Er…it’s okay. A little sore, but not much else. It’s not a shiner like yours.”

For the briefest moment, there’s a look of confusion that passes over Jack’s face, then it’s gone and Jack shrugs and says, “It’s those damn boney limbs of yours, Mic-Mac. They’re practically lethal weapons.”

“Just like your wit, right?” Mac quips back, his heart beating fast from his near miss and Jack huffs a breath of laughter as he crawls onto the bed.

“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I was Capital Wasteland Priority Target: Alpha and that wasn’t just because of my chiseled good looks.”

Mac snorts at that and rolls his eyes as he sits on the bed.

“Deny it all you want, but my looks get me on a lot of hit lists.”

“Yeah, hit that lists, maybe,” and the moment the words are out of his mouth, MacCready wishes he could talk them back. Fuck! Did he actually say that out loud? He makes a horrified face at the wall and hopes the blush doesn’t creep across his neck.

Jack lets out a bark of laughter. “Right?” but in the next moment, he falls eerily quiet and Mac turns to see him looking infinitely sad. Even here they aren’t safe from Valentine influence. Something in Mac snaps.

“Stop that,” he demands. “Just don’t. If I wanted to have Valentine’s presence looming over my life, I’d’ve settled in Diamond City. You can be as miserable about your break up as you want any other time of the day, but for fuckssakes, Jack this is my damn _bedroom_ , so can you not?”

Jack shoots him a startled look of surprise. “Er…sorry?” then he sighs, “I can’t help it. I just…okay, I won’t talk about it here. I get it.” He turns over to face the wall. “Moira would let me,” Jack grumbles. 

“Then go kick Jonas out of her bed and wallow there, but at some point, don’t you have to just…let go?” Mac pulls his legs up on the bed and turns to face Jack’s back. “Look, I get it. I know what it’s like to lose someone who means the world, sun, and moon to—” his voice gives out here; even now he can hardly talk about Lucy aloud, “…but if I can’t just ride off into the sunset and die on some merc contract, then you can’t wither and die because Valentine broke your heart.”

“I…guess,” Jack mumbles, but he doesn’t turn over. MacCready frowns at his back and then moves to snuff out the bedside lantern. He supposes it was too much to ask for one pep talk to motivate Jack to get over Valentine, but he wishes that Moira wasn’t right about Jack’s heart ignoring all common sense and reasoning, and clinging to hope that Valentine might find his way back to him. 

Apparently, time is making the case that he should tell Jack about Valentine’s visit, but… It’s selfish, really, but he just doesn’t want Valentine to be any more a part of their lives than he already is. He’s seen the man a total of three times this year and Valentine is in the top five list of problems he has to deal with on a weekly basis and he’s frankly, fucking sick of it.

As MacCready settles down, he’s painfully aware of Jack at his back and hopes that he doesn’t embarrass himself in the morning with a boner. He’s not sure he could live that down, or not burst into flames in mortification. Before his little realization, when Jack would end up with arms and legs tangled with Mac’s, he never thought twice about it except to shove them off in annoyance because he was hot. However, this morning, the heat of Jack’s limbs and his breath along MacCready’s neck are painfully encouraging his straining erection. 

As if that isn’t bad enough, Duncan is bound to be in the room in the next sixty seconds for his usual morning wake up call, and that is so _not_ a conversation he’s prepared to have with his son right now. He needs at least another eight years to prepare for that, ten if he’s lucky. 

Mac tries slipping out from under Jack and keeping the disturbance to a minimum, but Jack must have some semblance of consciousness because his limbs go from heavy weights to clinging ones and he murmurs something unintelligible as he buries his face into the crook of Mac’s neck. Panic truly sets in then. 

“Jack,” Mac says in a hushed voice and pulling slightly at Jack’s arms. “I gotta get up.”

“Five more minutes…” Jack rumbles and doesn’t _move._

Across the hall, MacCready hears Duncan’s door open and he wonders if it’s possible to just black out for like a week or two. Sanctuary would survive that long without him, right? The door to his room starts creaking open and Mac tries again to get out of Jack’s grip. Then something miraculous happens, he hears Codsworth’s voice in the hall.

“Perhaps this morning we might let your father and Master Bertram sleep in, hmm? Come along, I made French toast.”

Duncan makes a noise of delight and moves down the hall with Codsworth and MacCready swears the moment he sees Codsworth he’s going to hug the Handy because Jesus Christ that was almost a fucking disaster. Frankly, it still might be, but at least he’s only got one twit to worry about, not two. Mac relaxes somewhat and waits. He figures if he keeps still long enough, Jack will fall back into true sleep and then he can escape. 

It takes some time, and Mac spends it listening to the sounds coming from the dining nook as Codsworth talks with Duncan, but eventually, Jack’s grips goes slack. MacCready gives it a few minutes more before he slides out from under Jack’s limbs and off the side of the bed.

He sits on the floor, back against the bed and for a moment indulges himself by pressing the heel of his hand against his hard dick while using the other to cover his mouth. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity, _fuck._ Behind him, Jack stirs on the bed, searching, and Mac freezes, hardly daring to breathe. 

“...Nick?” he mutters, voice heavy with sleep and boy does that kill Mac’s hardon faster than a cold fucking bath. “Oh, sorry, Mac,” Jack mumbles, catching sight of his head and patting the top of it before he rolls over. “Didn’t mean to swamp you again.”

The only response he’s capable of is a grunt in Jack’s direction before he stands and pulls on yesterday’s clothes. One night and he’s officially done with clingy Jack expecting Valentine to be in his bed and boners that don’t know any fucking decency. He’s going to sleep on the couch from now on. Jack can have the bed because he can’t do this again. 

Jack corners him in his office (a.k.a. lazes on one of the large, lower branches and pins Mac at his desk with his presence because Mac’s just that pathetic these days) at the end of a week full of ‘No, no, just keep the damn bed. I’ll sleep on the couch,’, and Mac’s short temper with everything because he can’t deal with Jack being within arm’s reach almost twenty fours hours a day while not actually being able to touch him, and Lucy giving him meaningful looks every time he goes by the clinic for a distraction, and for fuckssakes _Moira_ asked him yesterday if he was okay and she never clues in to people’s emotional states unless there’s a flashing Goddamn neon sigh, and says, 

“So, you’ve been a little weird lately. What’s up? Moira finally wear out your last nerve? Literally or figuratively. I wouldn’t be surprised by either.”

MacCready frowns at his desk as he considers what to say. He’s not surprised his weirdness is obvious. He’s always fucking obvious. Been obvious for the last ten years, apparently. “Not yet,” Mac hedges because he doesn’t want to just blurt, ‘I’m madly in love with you and it’s really fuckin’ with my equilibrium,’ and then die of mortification when Jack tells him that he’s not interested.

“I do try to keep her distracted. Curie’s a big help with that, since all Moira really needs is a project. Plus, I’ve told her you’re off limits for experiments.”

Mac almost does a double take, momentarily forgetting his misery. “What? She wants to experiment on me?!”

“Well…not _on_ you. More like a sample or five of your blood. Duncan’s previous illness has her wondering if it was genetic or something else.” Jack shrugs and then continues at Mac’s look of _‘What the fuck?’_ , “She means well, Mac. Moira is a little on the mad side of scientist sometimes, but she’d never maliciously hurt someone.”

“Yeah? Tell that to someone she doesn’t want to experiment on,” he grumbles and Jack chuckles.

“Been there, done that. Trust me, I speak from experience here.” Then Jack gives him a look from the branch, sunglasses sliding down his nose. “But that’s not it, is it?”

“I was just fine with Moria livin’ across the street until you started talkin’ ‘bout blood and experiments, now I have worry about friggin’ Frankenstein makin’ a monster.” Mac pauses for a moment and then adds, “But, no…that wasn’t—” and stops, unsure how to continue. 

“Yep. That’s what I thought. Spill, Mac. What’s up?”

MacCready leans back in his chair and looks any place but at Jack as he hesitates. Again. It almost seems like he might cave and just tell Jack what’s really up, and for a panicky second the words just about come out of his mouth. 

But they don’t.

“Valentine was by a few weeks ago.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jack still. “Oh?” he asks, too casually and something breaks in Mac’s chest. He’s never going to get over that damn robot, is he? Never mind that Valentine has broken his heart six ways from Sunday, Jack still hopes. God, he could’ve fallen for anyone. Why did it have to be _Jack?_

“Yeah. Was in town for a collar and watched the end of our ball game.”

“…Oh.”

That one syllable draws Mac’s gaze and he sighs. “I’m probably gonna regret tellin’ you this, but the job was an excuse to come to town. He was really lookin’ for you. He wants to talk and Eden isn’t passin’ his messages along.” 

Jack makes a few low grumbles that sound suspiciously like, “Though we already discussed the whole, ‘you’re not my dad,’ thing.” Then, more clearly, “Did Nick say what he wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And…it’s nothin’ good.”

“Oh,” Jack says again, like the last flickering flame of hope was snuffed out by Mac’s words.

“Yeah…” MacCready repeats as well because what the hell else is he supposed to say? “Sorry Valentine has fucked up software.”? That would either make Jack laugh or cry and he really can’t handle another instance of Jack crying. He doesn’t know how to help with that, even being there once himself, and he hates the helplessness of watching Jack suffer. But even with that one word, Jack is retreating inward. Mac can almost see it happening. Like some star dying, robbing its galaxy of light. 

“Jack,” he says and then pauses before trying something simple, “I’m sorry.”

Jack makes a noise of acknowledgement before sliding off the branch and heading back toward MacCready’s house. He wishes there was something he could do to makes this easier for Jack, but he knows there isn’t. 

When he returns home that evening, Mac isn’t surprised to learn that Jack has left. He sighs and tells himself that Jack needs his coping mechanisms, even if that means hiding in an underground laboratory. Besides, The Wanderers have practice next week and Jack’s never missed one, and in a month or two he can wheedle extra time out of Jack for this disappearing act. In the morning, MacCready will talk to Moira and Jonas about it and they’ll help him come up with something to distract Jack with when he gets back.

Maybe Jonas can break into Harden’s still again.

\- - - - -

A week later something worrying happens. Jack misses practice. His team hangs out on the pitch for a half hour waiting for him, before MacCready, who was also waiting for him to show as well, snatches Joseph away from his classroom as a replacement catcher for them. He would’ve grabbed Lucy, but she was in the middle of setting a broken bone for Sticky who got caught in a collapsing building while scaving. Knick Knack pulled him out, thankfully, but Mac’s going to have to talk about them taking more people with them because they were damn lucky it wasn’t something worse than a broken arm. 

After Joseph gets settled in, the team starts their practice for the game they have next week, and MacCready heads to the communication room set up in the old office of the house to the left of the path to Vault 111. Lee manages it during the day, and Éclair keeps an ear on it at night (or when Lee is at practice or playing a game) while he bakes bread and other sweets to sell. 

As Mac enters the room, Lee looks up from the comic he’s reading. “Hey Cap, what can I do for ya?”

“I need to talk to Eden.”

Lee’s eyebrows raise at Mac’s tone, but he adjusts the dial without further question and depresses the switch on the microphone. “Hey Henry, you kickin’ on this channel or what? Mayor wants a word.” Lee checks Mac’s face and then amends that statement, “More like a paragraph, judgin’ from the look I’m gettin’.”

“I’m here, Lee. If you could give Mayor MacCready and me a moment, I’d appreciate it,” Eden’s smooth voice says from the other end of the connection, and Lee stands. 

“No prob.”

Mac gives Lee a nod of thanks on his way out of the room, and as the door clicks closed behind him, MacCready moves to the desk, taking a seat in the chair Lee vacated. 

“I’ll assume Lee is gone now, Mayor, and that this isn’t a social call.”

Mac takes a steadying breath and presses the switch on the mic. “Do I ever fuckin’ call socially? Where’s Jack? He’s missing practice. He never misses practice.”

There’s a moment of silence from the other end as if Eden’s debating what load of bull he wants to try and push this time. Then, “Mr. Valentine visited yesterday. Against my advice.”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ It must be bad if Eden’s telling him this right off the bat and not dicking around with coded sentences.

“Goddamn it,” Mac says into the microphone, hand curling into a fist on his thigh. “Motherfucker.”

“Hmm, indeed,” Eden agrees with something not quite like vehemence, but like he’s calculating the odds of getting away with murdering Valentine—cold and cruel. Mac can get behind that. Shit, Eden could probably get away with it, too. “John refused to leave his room this morning, speak beyond several expletives, or eat. However, in the past, it usually takes a couple of days for him to rally enough to do much more than that. I’m sure next week he’ll be appropriately contrite for missing practice.”

“A week is too long. Send a Courser for us.”

“And you’ll leave Duncan behind for how long? Sanctuary? No.”

Fucking Eden. “For Moira and Jonas then. He needs someone there with him.”

“Despite your belief to the contrary, John has support here as well,” Eden tells him in a voice that’s as hard and cool as iron, “and more importantly, he _copes_ through temporary isolation.”

“And blood. So, let’s try and avoid another Outcast Incident, yeah?” MacCready snaps.

“If it comes to that, which I don’t believe it will, I’ll point him at Nuka World with a pair of Coursers as back up. In the mean time, Mayor, John needs to be alone.”

“For how long? For fuckssakes, Eden, don’t put this pissing contest between us before him.”

There’s another moment of silence from Eden. 

He’s always suspected that Eden sees Jack as something more than just a friend and useful tool to push around the Commonwealth, but just what exactly that might be, MacCready can’t even begin to fathom. Something nefarious in all likelihood. At the very least, Eden should be putting Jack’s well-being first, since whatever he’s got planned, invariably has Jack as its center piece.

“If he does not improve by the game next week, I’ll send word and a new course of action can be decided at that time.”

Mac nods reluctantly in acceptance of that. Eden holds all the cards in this situation and that’s about as good a deal as he’s going to get. “Alright,” he says into the mic. “One week.”

“Until next time, Mayor MacCready.”

“Yeah, lookin’ forward to it,” Mac replies with as much sarcasm as he can muster before leaving the communications room and returning to his work. Not that he gets much done for the rest of the day. Or the next. Or even the one after that. 

He’s on pins and needle the whole of the next week, waiting for either word that Jack is worse off this time than all the rest or for Jack to appear in town looking worse for wear but willing to allow the town to offer him much-needed comfort. He talked with Moira and Jonas the evening he spoke with Eden, and they’re just as worried as Mac is. It won’t take more than a few words to have them dropping their various work projects and rushing to Jack’s side if it comes to that. Every time he sees that kind of devotion from them, he thinks that Jack is a fool to believe that the people he loves leave. Shit, if he asked, the whole of the frigging Commonwealth would rally to his side simply because he called. And maybe that’s not the same thing as the love that Jack talks about, but it shows that he’s far from alone in this world.

The day of the ball game dawns, as most days do, bright and early. Lucy’s already decided on a course of action if Jack doesn’t show regarding the game because they must play, even if he’s absent. “That not what he would want,” Lucy says as she explains that since Joseph practiced with The Wanderers last week, he should stay their catcher and she would step in and catch for The Schoolhouse Rockers. “I’ve already practiced catching with Stockholm,” she tells him before adding, “You worry about Jack, and we’ll worry about this working without him. Best case, he shows and we can all breathe a sigh of relief. If he doesn’t, then you bring him home, Mac. He’s been one of us for a long damn time and we don’t leave kids behind.”

MacCready gives up on even the pretense of working and takes his rifle on a patrol of the town. He talks with Dusty and Kimba about any potential problems, but it's mostly an excuse to kill time since if there were actually anything worth reporting, Kimba would’ve already had it on his desk. They don’t seem to mind him butting in, though; the whole town seems on edge today about whether Jack will show, so everyone is looking for a bit of a distraction until zero hour. 

The patrol manages to kill most of the morning, and Mac heads home for lunch. As he puts his rifle away, Duncan talks about his class with Joseph, showing off a bit of slime that they made with Abraxo and Wonderglue that morning and how excited he is for the game this afternoon. Duncan talks all the way to the table and neglects his food in favour of continuing to talk, so eventually, Mac has to tell him, “You can’t go to the game if you haven’t finished your lunch,” and Duncan’s eyes get comically wide before he starts shovelling food into his mouth, which Codsworth immediately admonishes. MacCready thinks it's kind of funny actually, but he’s learned that as a parent you can’t always laugh at the antics of your kid.

Earlier in the week, MacCready talked with Codsworth about what might happen if Jack didn’t show up and he knows that for a short while at least, Duncan will be looked after if he has to go. Honestly, he expects Moira to be called away if the need arises and possibly Jonas (after he’s finished umping that is) because as annoying as it is to say, Eden was right when he implied that it was a bad idea for Mac to just skip out on Duncan and the town because of Jack. 

One thirty is the game start time, and Mac walks over with Duncan and Codsworth a little after one. Perhaps walk is the wrong word. Mac walks, Codsworth floats, and Duncan runs excited circles because, as he keeps saying, Jack is going to be back today. MacCready hasn’t said anything to dissuade that idea because he hopes that it’ll be true. 

At the diamond, the two teams are warming up, The Wanderers stretching in the outfield, with The Rockers pitch and stretch in the infield. The sight of it has him a little worried, but Jack’s arrived in the nick of time before, so he isn’t going to really start panicking until after the game starts. 

As they take a seat in the chairs that Codsworth thoughtfully brought along (he’s too spoiled by half at having a frigging Handy around; what must the Old World have been like with of them in every house?), Duncan cranes his head around, looking for any sign of Jack. Then, he fixes Mac with a gloomy sort of look. “I don’t see him.”

“Maybe he’s busy tellin’ Coursers what to do is and late.”

Duncan pouts. “Can’t they look aftoy themselves?”

MacCready chuckles. “You ask him that when he gets here,” and Duncan nods.

“If Master Bertram doesn’t arrive, we can be sure that he had good reason. You know how much loves to play in these games, Master Duncan.”

“I guess…but I’ll be sad if he doesn’t come home.”

“We all will be,” Codsworth agrees solemnly.

A few minutes later, Moira and Curie set up chairs on the other side of Mac. They exchange quiet greetings, but Duncan immediately lights up at the sight of Moira (he swears that kid takes after Jack more every day) and shows off his slime, pulling it from his pocket with every bit of lint and dirt that was in there with it. 

“Oh neat! You made a polymer,” Moira tells him in an excited voice. “These are so cool, aren’t they?” Duncan lets her stretch it out and mush it back into a ball. “You know what this is really great for? Taking ink off newspapers and comics. You can pull images off and stick them almost anywhere. It’s great!”

Duncan's eyes go wide with the possibilities and MacCready sighs. Now he’s going to have to hide all his comics. “Weally?” he says.

“ _Mais oui,_ Duncan, but you must remember not to do that to those things that do not belong to you. Such as Jacques books and your father’s comic collection,” Curie adds in a tone reminiscent of her days as a Miss Nanny. 

Duncan’s face falls a bit as he realizes his pool of potential test subjects has shrunk considerably, but Moira leans in and hands the slime back to Duncan. “Don’t worry,” she tells him, “I have lots of books that I’ve memorized and those things just take up space. You can have some of them.”

“Can I?”

“Of course.”

“And what do you say?” MacCready asks when Duncan isn’t forth coming with his manners.

“Thank you, Moiya.”

“Your welcome.”

Not long after that, Duncan spots Bobby a few chairs down and after a nod from Mac, dashes off to play. Codsworth floats after him at a discrete distance to make sure the two boys don’t get into too much trouble. Curie watches them play for a few moments before turning her attention back to them. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything,” Moira says to him as they watch the teams warm up and Mac shakes his head. “I’m worried about him.”

“Me too.”

“As am I,” Curie adds and Moira pats her knee. 

MacCready checks the time on his pocket watch; it’s almost game time. Suddenly, there’s a sharp whistle from Marcy and the teams break from their warm up, heading to the center of the pitch to flip a coin for who’s first up at bat. Still no sign of Jack. Moira shifts on her seat beside him.

“Maybe I should—” she cuts off her own words as she looks down the line of chairs. Mac follows her gaze, for a brief moment hoping that it’s Jack she sees, but finds Lee trotting toward them instead.

Shit.

“Hey, Cap, Moira,” Lee says in a low voice as he stops in front of MacCready’s and Moira’s chairs. “A message came in for you two. The kind that needs to be returned ASAP.”

They both stand and Lee starts back toward town, Moira following, but MacCready pauses, trying to catch sight of Codsworth. 

“I’ll tell him you ‘ave gone with Moira,” Curie says touching his arm, “Be quick now, or they’ll get there without you.”

“Thanks,” Mac replies and dashes off to catch up with Moira and Lee. 

Sometimes Mac loves the size of Sanctuary Hills; there are so many possibilities for houses and a market and anything else they might come to need as the town grows. Sometimes he hates the size of the town, like when he has to make sure the perimeter is covered for patrols or when he’s helping drag electrical wire around from the solar generator, or like now, when he must dash as quickly as possible from one end to the other, cursing the distance between the diamond and the communications room. 

As they make it inside, Lee kicks the chair from the desk and it hits the wall, bouncing away. He doesn’t bother with the dials, just presses the switch on the microphone and say, “Henry, I’ve got ‘em.”

“Thank you for your expediency, Lee,” Eden replies. “Now if you’d be so kind—”

Lee cuts him off, “Yeah, yeah, I know. Scram,” before he claps Mac on the shoulder and leaves the room. 

Moira moves to the microphone and the moment the door closes and asks, “Is Jack still in the Institute?”

“Yes. He tried to leave two days ago for a destination other than Sanctuary, but I overrode the controls and prevented him from relaying away. As you might imagine, it has put a strain on our communications since.”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes. “So, what do you need from us?” 

Eden makes a noise much like a sigh, which, since he doesn’t breathe is a strange sort of thing to hear. “John is taking his isolation beyond coping now, I fear, and he’s no longer inclined to speak with me since I locked him out of the system, he needs you, Mr. Palmer, and Mayor MacCready to coax him out of hiding. I’ve already sent a Courser to the Sanctuary relay site. Decide among yourselves how you wish to handle the rotation.”

Moira turns to him. “You should go now. Jonas and I will switch out tonight so you can come home and be with Duncan.”

“Alright. You’ll let Duncan and Codsworth know I’ll be back soon?”

“Of course. Now get to the relay site. I’ll tell JH.”

Mac nods and slips out of the room as Moira explains the decision to Eden. He finds Lee sitting on the stoop outside. “She’s just finishing up now,” Mac tells him as he jogs out into the street. “I’ll be back tonight if anyone needs anything.”

“You got it, Cap.”

At the relay site, the Courser Eden mention is waiting, looking like a statue in the heat of the afternoon. How do they wear those damn coats in this weather? As MacCready moves toward the unburnt center, the Courser shifts to the side slightly and says, “Stand approximately six inches from me.” Mac moves into position and the Courser gives him a nod when he’s in the right place. “We’re ready to relay, sir,” and the words are hardly out of the Courser’s mouth before the blindingly bright light engulfs them both. 

He stumbles as the relay reassembles his molecules, and catches himself with one hand on the metal wall of the relay hub, gasping for breath because it feels like he’s lost every single bit of air in his lungs. In a way, he supposes he has. 

The Courser gives him a moment to steady himself. “The First time is a shock to the system,” he says, voice that annoying level of bland that all Coursers seems to prefer. 

“Yeah? What about the second?” Mac grunts. 

“Vertigo and vomiting.”

“ _Great._ How the fuck does Jack do this all the time?” 

“It becomes easier with time,” the Coursers replies and leads him out of the relay hub and into a grubby looking room that doesn’t fit with Jack’s description of the Institute. 

“But who’d want a third ride?” Mac mutters to himself, aware that the Courser can hear him, but not expecting an answer. He doesn’t get one. 

At the end of the room, there is an elevator and its glass door slides open as the Courser approaches. However, before he has the opportunity to step aboard, Eden’s voice sounds from a speaker somewhere to MacCready’s right.

“I’ll see the Mayor to the Director’s quarters, Z3-45.”

“As you say, sir,” the Courser replies and stops outside the elevator’s door. Mac spares Z3 a look before climbing aboard, mildly concerned that Eden is going to drop the car and kill him. Or at the very least maim him. The door slides smoothly shut as soon as Mac is in the car and then begins its descent, moving through a metal shaft for a few seconds before it opens into a vast sea of darkness. MacCready frowns at the dark. What’s the point of a glass elevator if you can’t see anything?

“I wish to apologize for my earlier reluctance at allowing you to help John,” Eden says and Mac almost jumps at the sudden sound of his voice in the confined space. “You were right to criticize me for allowing our disagreements to go before John’s well-being.”

Mac scowls at his reflection in the glass in lieu of scowling at Eden. If it weren’t for the sensation of movement with the elevator car, Mac couldn’t be sure he was moving and not trapped, dangling in a pit of black. “Thanks,” he replies skeptically.

“However, your estimation of my character is still wrong.”

“Doubt it.”

If Eden had a face, Mac imagines he would be frowning right about now. Good. 

“I suppose then, that you’ll be glad to know that you remind me very much of the late Elder Maxson.”

“What could I possibly have in common with that asshole?” MacCready snaps.

“Your dogmatic idiocy.”

“Fuck you too, Eden.”

There’s a long moment of quiet after that and the elevator glides quietly through the dark as MacCready wonders about where Jack might have before Eden rassled the controls away from him. If it were him, he would’ve gone to Goodneighbour and paid a visit to Hancock and his lovely stash of chems. If Mac had been here a week ago, that’s what he would’ve suggested. Fly high on some Jet and Mentats, and in a few days, take a Fixer, a couple shots of whiskey and been back to Sanctuary before you know it with a heartache that wasn’t quite so sharp.

The vast dark ends when the elevator is suddenly swallowed by a shaft of blinding white. MacCready barely has a chance to get used to the bright light of this new elevator shaft before it starts to slow and stop. Then, the doors slide open to a white hallway built from sections of paneling much like a vault.

“At the end of the hall will be a room and another door. On the other side of that door is a lift that will take you to the Director’s quarters,” Eden tells him as MacCready starts walking along the hall and it doesn’t take him long to get to the room that Eden mentioned. 

When the lift slides to a smooth stop at its end destination, the doors slide open into another dark space. The light from the lift spills out into the dark, lighting a swath of floor and a section of desk on the left side of the room. Mac steps off the lift, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark after the brightly lit areas previous. Then, the doors of the lift slide close and the room is plunged into total darkness. 

MacCready curses under his breath just as a small ceiling light pops on a few feet from him. Its light is weak compared to the light of the lift, but it’s better than the dark and Mac walks toward it, trying to pick out the size and shape of the room he’s in. Just as he reaches the circle of light it provides, the light flicks off and another, a few feet further, pops on. Mac pauses, frowning slightly, but as long as he doesn’t hear Eden’s voice directing him, Mac will count it as a win. He follows the path of the lights across the room, catching sight of a few pieces of furniture looming out of the darkness, and around a corner to the right where a light illuminates a door. 

This time when Mac steps up to the door, it doesn’t slide open. He looks around for some sort of switch or button or _something_ to engage the mechanism, but nothing is visible aside from the sleek walls and decorative grooves on the door. Eventually, decides to go for something simple and knocks, and then waits. Ten seconds. Fifteen. There’s no sound that he can hear from the other side, so he tries again. Louder this time. Another five seconds go by and then Mac hears the sound of something heavy hitting the floor, a muffled curse, and then footsteps. 

“Jesus Christ, JH, if you’ve sent X6 to check up on me again—” Jack’s words cut themselves off as the door slides open and Jack looks utterly gobsmacked to see MacCready standing in front of him. “…Mac?”

“Hey.”

The room behind Jack is just as dark as the room that MacCready walked through to get here, but he thinks he sees the outline of a bed in the gloom. Jack squints in the low light Mac’s standing in and he looks like utter shit. Worse than Mac’s ever seen him. He’s wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and boxers, he hasn’t bathed in what MacCready guesses is got to be a week or more, his face is long unshaven, his hair is a tangled mess, and Mac’s heart breaks at the sight of it all.

After a few seconds, Jack recovers from his surprise and says, “Go away,” before turning around and limping back to his bed. “And for fuckssakes, JH, stop tryna help.”

The door starts to close as Jack moves away, and Mac darts through it before it closes completely and he’s locked out. There’s no light in the room with the door shut, so he takes a couple hesitant steps forward, hands out for any immediate obstacles. 

“Jack,” Mac says, voice automatically low in the dark. 

“I thought I told you to go away,” comes the muffled reply.

“You’re missing the game. And you missed practice before that.” Mac moves another two steps forward.

“Don’t care.”

“Joe had to take your place. And Luce had to take his.”

“Well, that’s stupid. Lucy shoulda just taken my place.”

Mac’s knees bump the edge of the bed. “Thought you didn’t care.”

Jack grumbles and falls silent. Mac turns and sits on the edge of the bed so he can take off his boots. By the time they’re both off, Jack’s curiosity has gotten the better of him. 

“Why Joe?”

“Sticky broke his arm scavin’. A building collapsed. Luce was busy fixin’ it so I had to grab Joe instead for practice—” Mac stands and starts unbuckling his belt, the sound oddly loud in the still dark, but he can’t very well get into bed in his jeans, “—and when you didn’t show for the game, it only made sense that he stick with The Wanderers and that Luce catch for The Rockers.”

“Sticky okay?” 

“Sure. Knick Knack pulled him out, but I’ve told them that they need more than just the pair of them if they’re gonna keep going to dangerous places. Idiots.” Mac crawls onto the bed, feeling for where Jack has ensconced himself so he doesn’t step on him, and when he reaches the top he flops down on his back. 

Jack makes a noise of agreement and falls quiet again. Mac lets him keep his silence for a time, listening to the sound of his breathing, and basking in the smell of Jack on the pillows and bedding. The perfect climate control of The Institute hasn’t soured the smell of sweat the way the heat would and Jack’s been gone too long for his smell to still be on Mac’s bed. 

“Duncan misses you,” MacCready says after a period of quiet, as he stares into the total darkness of the room. “He was excited to see you today.”

Jack sighs, miserable. “Yeah.”

“I’ve missed you too.” A beat. “Bed hog that you are.”

A sound almost like a huff of laughter comes from Jack. “I’m not a bed hog,” he says, ever ready for a little banter no matter how dark his mood, “there’s just more of me than you. I can’t help it if I take up more space.”

“See, that _sounds_ reasonable if I didn’t already know that you fling limbs over the nearest warm object.”

“Stop being so warm, then,” Jack replies as his hand feels its way to Mac’s arm, reading the unspoken invitation.

MacCready shifts his arm up and Jack all but dives into the crook of his shoulder as Mac says, “And I can’t help if there’s more of my body heat than I need.”

“You are ridiculously warm, it’s true. One might even consider it freakish.”

“There’s plenty of cold bed if that’s the case,” Mac replies and leans away. He doesn’t get much more than an inch or two before Jack claws him back with a noise of protest. “Or not,” he says with a laugh and wraps his arm around Jack’s shoulder and resting the other along the length of arm that’s lying across his stomach.

Another bout of silence passes and MacCready wonders how Duncan is doing. He’s probably fine. Codsworth has been taking good care of him while Mac messes about with being mayor, and he can’t imagine it's any different now that he’s not there. Still, this is the first time he’s been away from Duncan since he returned to the Capital with the cure and it’s unsettling him a little. 

“I can hear that molerat runnin’ the maze, Mac,” Jack murmurs. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“Duncan.”

“He’s fine. Codsworth’ll take good care of him. You won’t be gone long anyways.”

MacCready can hear the unasked question that statement holds. “No,” he confirms. “Moira and Jonas will be by later tonight.”

Jack sighs, somewhere between annoyed and resigned. “Meddlin’ A.I.”

“Yep,” Mac agrees easily. 

“I should be entitled to a few breakdowns in a lifetime.”

“Haven’t you about used your allotment up?”

“You’d think.”

“You knew, though,” Mac says, feeling that this is as good an opportunity as any to talk about Valentine. “Moira told you, and Li, and Eden, and what’s-his-face even said it. More than once.”

“Jesus, are you ever gonna give up callin’ JH, Eden?”

“No. And we were talkin’ about you and Valentine, so don’t change the subject.”

“Oh yeah because thinkin’ about it non-stop for the last two weeks, _really_ puts me in the mood to talk about. How’a ‘bout a root canal while you’re at it?”

“I don’t even know what that is, but since it’s all drippin’ in sarcasm, I’ll assume it’s nothin’ good.”

Jack sighs. “Look, can we not relive my heartache, embarrassment, and general patheticness in Technicolour? I’m so tired of it all.”

“Alright,” Mac agrees, “but just so ya know, I wouldn’t think less of you or anything. Might even put aside my differences with Eden and cook up a murder plot for Valentine—”

Jack snorts with a burst of laughter. “No, you won’t.”

“Not that you could stop us. Hell, it’d probably look like an accident, so you’d never really be sure it _was_ us.”

“I’d use my little grey cells and solve it.”

“But I’d have an iron clad alibi and Eden wouldn’t dirty his metaphorical hands—there’d be a patsy, obviously. And really, would you want to tarnish my name? I have a kid and a town to look after. Poirot let them go at the end of _The Orient Express_ , you’d have to let us go too.”

“Stop, stop,” Jack tells him with soft laugh. “It’s flattering, really, but I don’t need you to kill Nick. Think of all the bad luck you’d bring if you offed the Saint of the Commonwealth. Plus, Ellie would murder you. First with tariff and trade restrictions, and then _she’d_ get her hands dirty.”

“Yeah…I’ve always liked Ellie,” Mac replies with a crooked grin and he can feel Jack smile against his chest. 

After that, they fall into idle quiet and a few minutes pass before Jack’s breathing evens out and he falls asleep. Mac doesn’t imagine that he has gotten a lot of sleep over the past couple of weeks. A day or two of this personal care and they’ll have Jack coaxed back to town. Codsworth will make him mac and cheese for like a week straight, Duncan will demand stories of the Minutemen, Sturges and Timebomb will drag him into a town project or two, Lucy will have the whole town dragged down to the river at least twice, and he’s sure _someone_ will suggest a redo of the ball game because Jack wasn’t present. 

In the dark of Jack’s quarters, it’s impossible to not doze as well and he figures that when the time comes, either Eden with say something or Moira and Jonas will just show up the way he did and he’ll head back to Sanctuary. When he wakes some indefinite amount of time later (without natural light or visible clock faces who can tell in this coffin like dark?), in the same position as before, Jack a warm spot against his side, MacCready wishes he could have moments like this always, he wishes these moments meant something _more._

Lazily, MacCready combs his fingers through Jack’s hair, sometimes catching the blunt ends of his fingernails on Jack’s scalp. When Duncan was sick, he used to do this to comfort him and Mac imagines that it has the same effect no matter one’s age. Jack sighs awake, shifting his head back slightly so Mac can get spots he was unable to reach before. When he moves again too soon for Mac’s liking, he gets a little impatient with Jack.

“Stop squirmin’,” he whispers. 

“Make me,” Jack replies with a murmur and smirk, and moves his head back and forth like he was eagerly agreeing with someone. Mac digs his fingers into Jack’s hair to still him with a huff of laughter. 

The words, “Cut it out, you tool,” almost leave Mac’s mouth, but then Jack makes a breathless sort of hitching sound and they dry up in a sweltering rush of arousal. 

Time seems to slow and the moment makes him reckless. MacCready turns his head, meaning to spill it all in a helpless rush of emotions, just as Jack tips his head back further to lessen the strain of the grip because Mac doesn’t have the wherewithal to consider that he should let _go,_ and instead catches the edge of Jack’s lips as they awkwardly collide with one another. The shock of it makes MacCready jerk back, and then before he has a chance to reconsider if it’s a good idea, Mac surges forward again, flattening his hand against the back of Jack’s head as he clumsily presses their lips together in earnest. 

It hardly lasts more than a few seconds and Mac believes he reads a hesitation in Jack before he’s pushing back against MacCready and breaking them apart. There’s a heavy silence that descends after that. Then, Jack is scrambling back across the expanse of the bed and Mac curses. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells Jack, a mess of emotions crowding together in his chest. “I just…you—and then I… _Fuck._ ”

“I’ve obviously given you the wrong impression,” Jack says after a moment, voice weird in the dark. Then, as if it suddenly occurs to him, “Oh Christ, we sleep in the same bed…”

“Jack, that’s not…” MacCready reaches out across the bed, searching for him, but Jack eludes him, “That didn’t even bother me until—” he cuts himself off, mortified. 

Jack groans, hearing the unspoken words. “No. No, you don’t. You _can’t._ Anyone but me.”

And because Mac will forever be stubborn, he says, despite the fear that comes with laying oneself bare, “I love you, Jack.”

“ _No._ You don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I feel, you asshole. I’m sorry that I fucked this up spectacularly. I didn’t mean to do this now, but you whinning and saying it isn’t so, doesn’t make it true. I’ve loved you for a long damn time.”

There’s a long moment of silence. 

“You’d better go,” Jack tells him in a small voice and Mac’s heart breaks into a million pieces. He clenches his fists instead of crying and moves down to the end of the bed. 

“You gonna make me get my things in this fuckin’ dark?” MacCready snaps as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. 

“Lights, 10%,” Jack murmurs and room’s lights begin to dimly shine. Mac still blinks in the face of it, especially after the total dark of before, but he quickly jumps into his jeans, refusing to look at where Jack’s huddled on the bed, as his anger and hurt building the longer he spends in the room. 

As he’s jamming his feet into his boots, there’s a knock on the door. They both look at it in surprise, but Jack doesn’t move to open it. Cursing under his breath, MacCready stands from the bed and stalks across the room. “Lights, 50%,” he barks when he can’t see the mechanism for opening the door and darkly relishes the hissing noise Jack makes when the lights jump up in brightness. There’s a square button on the side of the door, divided in half, with the top button depressed and the bottom sticking out. For a lack of any other choices, Mac jabs the bottom button, popping the top one at the same time the door slides open. 

MacCready brushes through Moira and Jonas with little more than a grunt at their hellos and into the dark of the room he first walked through. With zero patience for Jack’s self-imposed blackness (drama much?), he barks at these lights to be 50% as well. He barely notes the perfect precision with which the living space is put together and the few items that Jack has left lying around that disrupt its orderliness. On the desk, near the lift, Mac spots a couple books that were invisible in the gloom the first time he passed by and swerves to check their covers. The top one is a nearly pristine _Lying, Congressional Style_ and Mac tosses it to the side with a look of disgust, but under it is a Poirot mystery, _Cards on the Table,_ and MacCready snatches it up. Then, he steps on the lift and leaves exactly the way he came.

True to Z3’s word, when MacCready lands on the burnt grass outside of Sanctuary, he vomits, nausea overpowering from the second trip and feeling like his heart is hardly still beating. 

\- - - - -

When he gets home, MacCready goes through his evening ritual on autopilot, trying not to stop in any one place long enough for his thoughts to crowds in on him. Duncan is still up and waiting for him, so Mac could read another chapter of _The Mystery of the Blue Train_ before agreeing to go to sleep. Mac can’t say he remembers what it was about five seconds after he douses the lamp and leaves Duncan’s room. 

He eats a few cold leftovers from supper and thanks Codsworth for looking after Duncan before heads to bed himself. He can tell that Codsworth wants to know about Jack from the indecisive fluttering that marks the Handy’s manner all night, but MacCready doesn’t want to talk about it and so doesn’t offer anything, and Codsworth can obviously tell Mac’s in bad mood so he doesn’t bring the subject up. Mac’s grateful for that. 

In the morning, after he’s dropped Duncan off at his half-day class, MacCready returns home and starts pulling Jack’s books off the dining nook’s shelves. The crates that they originally arrived in are stacked in a closet that isn’t in use and he means to pack them all away again so he doesn’t have to look at them, bird and bat included. 

He gets about half way through the first shelf before a surge of anger, hurt, and self-loathing wells up within him and he shoves the rest on the floor. Then he moves to the other shelves, flinging the remaining books off with such force that a few slide across the floor into the kitchen and over into the living room. When the destruction is complete, Mac stands in the mess, clenching his hands as a few hot tears run down his cheeks.

“Sir?” Codsworth asks softly, gently laying his pincer on Mac’s shoulder.

“I can’t stand to look at them,” he whispers, afraid that if he uses a louder tone he’ll burst into sobs. 

“Is Master Jack not returning?” Mac can’t recall a time Codsworth didn’t call Jack ‘Bertram’, but he says the words with such quiet solemnity that the nickname would have been out of place. 

MacCready shakes his head. “No. Maybe? …I don’t know. If he comes back, it won’t be to stay.”

“I see… Well, perhaps you might permit me to pack them? Surely you have other things to do of greater importance today.” Codsworth gently steers him toward the door and Mac goes willingly enough. “I believe that Master Sturges has finished his work on that power armour frame. Perhaps you might take it for a test ride? With your gauss rifle, of course.”

That sounds like a great idea.

Sturges is delighted to see him when MacCready rolls into his garage—a charitable way of describing the place. It’s actually one of the houses that was practically a ruin, and Sturges and Timebomb have spent most of the summer gutting and reinforcing it for their use. Moira’s lab/workspace has slowly been expanding in the house they were originally in, and the two of them saw the writing on the wall. Jonas is the only one sticking around in that place and Mac figures that’s because Jonas is about the only person Moira will make space for. Not because Moira doesn’t like the company of others, just that she, much like Jack, has a tendency to ignore personal boundaries when it comes to her things and Jonas, more or less, falls into the category of Moira’s things. 

MacCready is below average height of your standard Old-World soldier, but so is just about everyone else these days, so Sturges has already improved upon the system in the frame that allows for height adjustments to be made. Mac’s gauss rifle has been under Timebomb’s care for the last while since until it relatively recently, Mac didn’t have a place to store it and Timebomb thought he could get its weight down to something someone could handle without a suit of power armour, or at the very least, build a version that could. 

After a few quick lessons on how to use power armour, MacCready, wearing the suit and carrying his gauss rifle, and Sturges, following along, head down to the Red Rocket. 

He fires a few shots at the rocket, the rifle feeling much better in his hands than that first time he fired it now that he doesn’t have to hold steady its fifty pounds. The frame’s hydraulics make short work of the weight and so on MacCready’s end, all he has to do is point and shoot. Of course, with a target like the rocket he doesn’t really need to aim, but it takes a few shots to get a handle on the second person nature of frame’s gauntlets, and after another half-dozen or so, he’s practically perfected it. When he’s had his fill, Mac steps out of the frame and lets Sturges have a go at using it. He went to all the effort of fixing the thing, after all. 

Which, _of course,_ is the moment it all goes south. 

A pack of feral ghouls appears from behind the station and attacks them, drawn from what ever hole they were living in by the noise of them shooting. MacCready, stupidly forgot to grab his pistol this morning from the bedside table as his mind is a jumbled mess, and for all the useful things Sturges is capable of doing, firing a weapon in a fight is hardly one of them. He’s much better suited to fixing guns than shooting them, but when he does manage to land a shot, the power of the gauss rifle explodes the ferals in a shower of gore and body parts. It’s a bit like killing radroach with a rocket launcher. Which if Mac was the one controlling he rifle might be kind of entertaining but without even the protection of a weapon, it's just maddening. 

In between a litany of swears, MacCready goes for the garage and frantically searches for something to use a weapon. This Red Rocket has been mostly picked clean by scavenging crews long before the Capital Wasteland gang ever got to Sanctuary, but he does manage to find the lever of a missing jack that’s plenty heavy for a good swing. He returns to the fray, keeping behind Sturges as best he can, but two ferals manage of bowl him over by getting around the power armour and Sturges has to kick them off. 

By the end of it, MacCready is bruised from hitting the rocky ground, covered in countless scratches and lacerations that burn from the ferals’ claws, and soaked in their brownish, sludge-like blood since Sturges only over seemed to catch one with the rifle when Mac was _right beside_ the fucking thing. When the last feral is dead at their feet, Mac flings the lever at the garage’s busted door hard enough to dent it and a long moment of silence stretches between them.

“I suppose I should start settin’ traps around here. Buggers are probably drawn in by the radiation leakin’ from the fuel tanks.”

“Ya think?” Mac snarls and starts back toward town. He needs to jump in the river and clean the blood off, and then see Lucy about the lacerations. 

“Won’t be permanent, mind you,” Sturges says to his back, ignoring Mac’s temper. Probably out of guilt. “Be best if we could repurpose the fuel here for somethin’ else. Gonna need more power before long.”

“Just deal with it, Sturges.”

“Will do.”

The blood is itchy and starting to burn his skin by the time MacCready gets to the river. He washes his hands off first and pulls out his smokes and lighter from his pocket and then jumps in with little fanfare, pausing at the bottom for a moment before launching back to the surface. The water is murky and rust coloured around him as Mac moves back to the bank and the mid-September sun hasn’t been shining as hot lately, so he’s a bit chilled by the time he makes to the clinic. At least most of the excess water has dripped off on the trek. 

As he steps inside, Lucy looks up from the lab, where she and Red are busy preserving as much glowing fungus, bloodleaf, and hub flower as they can before the plants finally stop producing. 

“What hell happened to you?” she asks, as she moves around the worktable, both amused and concerned at the same time. Mac quickly explains about the ferals and his improvised weapon. The moment he says ‘ferals’ Lucy is bustling him to a bed. “I’m glad you washed that blood off. It’s just like acid.” She shoves him a little as they near and then steps back to draw a curtain around the bed. “Strip everything, Mac. I’ll get you a towel.” 

He then hears her tell Zoey to go to his house and tell Codsworth that he needs some dry clothes. He’s half undressed by the time Lucy shoves a towel through the side of the curtain. “Let me know when you’re decent,” she tells him and Mac makes a noise of acknowledgement. When all of his clothes are in a wet pile on the floor, his boots beside them, MacCready wraps the towel around his waist and sits on the bed, fingers itching for a smoke, but knowing Lucy would just make him put it out, and calls her back in. 

She’s got strips of cloth for bandages and a pot of healing paste in her hands. When she sets them down on the bed beside Mac, she pulls out a couple chunks dried chunks of glowing fungus from her pocket and shoves them in his hand. “Eat,” she tells him and then starts checking the worst of his lacerations. The scratches have bleeding, but the others are still sluggishly leaking blood. She focuses on them first, slathering paste on them and then wrapping them in the cloth, shaking her head as she goes.

“Why didn’t you have your gun? You never forget your gun,” she asks after he’s choked down both pieces of the glowing fungus with a grimace. 

“Obviously not never,” Mac grumbles. 

Lucy gives him a look. “You know what I mean. Did something happen with Jack? Is he alright?”

Jesus, why did she have to be so frigging clairvoyant? 

“He’s a miserable prick.”

“Well, duh. That much was obvious when he missed the game…and that’s not what you meant.” She pauses in her work. “What happened?”

MacCready looks away with a frown, that horrible aching hurt swelling in his chest again. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh, Mac,” she breathes and then crushes him with a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well it’s my own fault.”

“The hell it is. You two were together in every way that counted and he took advantage of that, knowing or not.” She releases him and starts dressing his wounds again. “Ugh. I don’t know who I’m more angry at now. Valentine for causing this, or Jack for hurting you.”

“Just forget it, Luce. I’m going to.”

She gives him a doubtful look. “You, of all people, should know that’s not how it works.”

Codsworth arrives with dry clothes a few minutes later and Lucy tasks him with watching MacCready for the rest of the day. “He might get a fever from those damn, dirty ferals, so make sure he doesn’t do anything strenuous for the rest of the day. I’ll come by around supper time to check on him. If he makes it through with no infections—” she switches to talking to Mac, “—we’ll talk about the RadAway treatment you’ve been avoiding.”

After he’s dressed and has slipped on the worn by dry sneakers he keeps around for occasions like this, he and Codsworth head back home.

“I’m sorry that my suggestion of spending time with Master Sturges didn’t work your favour, sir.”

“Not your fault, buddy.”

“Still, I feel partially responsible.”

Mac pats the side of Codsworth’s chassis. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I shall endeavour to do so.”

Sometime around noon, Moira and Jonas arrive back in town, or least that’s what Codsworth tells him. The Handy saw them when he went out to collect from school at lunch. MacCready hasn’t see them himself as he’s not feeling all that great and it taking Lucy’s advice to rest to heart. Though, he can’t decide if he’s unwell because it’s the beginning of a fever or just his stupid broken heart. The idea of lunch turns his stomach however, and Codsworth settles into mother hen mode at his lack of appetite. He gets a small cup of brahmin broth a couple hours later and strict orders to drink it all.

By the time Lucy arrives, it’s definitely a fever from whatever grossness lingers on feral ghouls’ claws. He should’ve known he'd get sick from it. He got sick the last time a feral tried to claw his face off. Stupid. Of all the days to forget his gun.

The infection knocks him out for a couple of days, and the only thing he remembers of it is snatches of Lucy and Codsworth making him drink bloodleaf tea and brahmin broth. He clears the worst of it on the third, though he won’t be in ‘fighting form’ as Codsworth put it, for a week or more. Lucy tells him to take it slow and Duncan camps in MacCready’s room for a couple of days after the worst of it because “That’s what you did da, when I was sick.”

About three days after he’s cleared to work again, Mac is out in the fields helping with harvest. Against Lucy’s orders. He spent the three days previous at his oak tree office, but MacCready hates the idea of doing nothing and right now, and Bumble and Biwwy need all the help they can get with bringing in the crops and getting them ready for winter storage. They’re pulling ears of corn off the stalks when Moira makes an appearance in the fields. 

She seeks him out, occasionally getting side tracked by the harvest, and looking at the plants as she talks cheerfully with Bumble about crop rotation and composting. It’s been about a week now since he was at the Institute, and MacCready’s been dreading this conversation ever since he landed back in Sanctuary.

“Hey Mac,” Moira greets as she gets within range. “Glad to see you out and about again. Ghoul blood great for scrubbing patina off old electrical connections, but not so much for our constitution.”

He’s more or less immune to the strange things that Moira says this these days, but he can’t help but wonder _how_ she found that out. “Thanks.”

“Sure. So, I just thought you should know that Jack is out on some much-neglected General’s business. Apparently, he’s been kinda ignoring them lately. Go figure.”

“Okay.” Mac shrugs. He wants to say that he doesn’t give a flying fuck what Jack does, but that would reflect their current relationship and not the previous one, and he’d rather keep his embarrassment to himself as much as possible. “He’s gonna be gone for a while, then?”

“I think so. I don’t think it’s a good idea, personally, but you know him.”

“Yeah.”

Moira stays for a few minutes longer, making MacCready show her the ears he’s harvesting and commenting on their funny name (“They don’t look anything like ears.”). Somehow, Mac gets the impression that she’s gauging him, like there’s something she wants to know or suss out without having to outright ask.

Shortly after two, Mac has to call it day. He doesn’t feel much like he’s contributed to the harvesting effort but he’s exhausted and feeling vaguely ill, so it’s best he gets some rest. Otherwise, Codsworth and Lucy will be strapping him down in bed until they deem him better and he’s had enough the invalid experience.

\- - - - - 

September ends warmly and with the promise that October will stay clear and warm, for a little while, anyways. There are some crops that don’t mind a bit of frost: carrots, onions, beets, collards, and turnips, so they can stay in the field for now without worrying too much about the rapidly cooling nights. However, razor grain, corn, tatoes, and stilt beans are picked as they ripen. The baby mutfruits, a gift from Diamond City, are mulched in good so they survive the winter, along with the hub flower bushes and glowing fungus hills, and bloodleaf seeds are collected for sowing next year. 

A week into October, the harvest falls into a bit of a lull and everyone heads out into the forest around the town to chop trees to cure for firewood for the winter. It’s back breaking work, but the solar generator that runs some of the stoves and fridges in the houses with electrical wiring, and the electric heater Timebomb put in Maggy’s chicken coop, isn’t going to be enough to handle the town’s heating needs as well. 

Wendy keeps telling people that she’s seen a herd of wild horses in her hunting trips, but no one believes her as she’s the only one to have seen them. A horse or two would be really helpful for work purposes (plowing fields, hauling wood, etc), but when MacCready considers how much more food they’d have to grow to feed them in the winter, he’s glad the tales haven’t amounted to anything more. Maybe next year, or the year after that they can put some effort into finding out if she’s right. At the very least they could support a few brahmin for milk and maybe capture a few radstags for breeding. 

For now, they have to haul their own wood and hope that Sturges wasn’t just talking out of his ass when he suggested repurposing the fusion generator in Satellite Station Olivia for their needs.

After that lull, October becomes a frantic sort of race to the end of the harvesting finish line. Somehow during that, MacCready finds the time to wrangle Joseph into helping him move his desk down town and into his house. He had meant to spend the winter working in his shack, much as he did in the spring and summer, but honestly, he’s not willing to haul twice the amount of wood to heat both places, and Lucy and Red need a heating stove for their clinic so he volunteered the one in his shack.  
The whole reason he had a separate area for his mayoral work was because there wasn’t any frigging space in his house for a desk and now there is. Just about everything has been moved out and put to use or stored elsewhere, and MacCready and Duncan have real space to live in. 

Joseph’s eyes linger on the empty bookshelves for a couple of moments, but he doesn’t question it. The whole town has pretty much excepted that Jack isn’t going to be back in any sort of long term way despite the fact that he never mentioned it directly to anyone. He’d like to think that Lucy kept their conversation in confidence, Red too since she undoubtedly overheard it, but MacCready knows that things don’t stay secret in a small community for long. It was only a matter of time. 

Although, the fact that no one has directly mentioned it to him is a little disconcerting. It means that they think him gravely affected by Jack’s choice to keep away and he isn’t. There’s too much work to do to worry about Jack, or his heart, or anything really, other than preserving, salting, and smoking as much food as possible. MacCready’s grand plan is to work until he’s too exhausted to think, and then fall dead asleep after he’s tucked Duncan in bed. It’s working a peach so far. Maybe too well, if the morning grogginess is any indication.

Harvest finishes up in the last week of October, and two days from Halloween, the canning and pickling have wrapped up. The town’s hunting parties are still going after local game, however, so salting and smoking will probably carry over until mid-November since they’ll hunt until it gets too cold to effectively do either. Halloween is a cold and rainy day and if the wet lasts into the night, it’ll probably turn into snow. 

Which it does. 

Mac experiences it first hand because he has to stand in it. They’ve been getting rain and frost on and off for the last week, and the ice has played havoc with the turrets, getting inside the cracks in the casing, freezing the gears and shorting out the electronics they put in them. Sturges and Timebomb have been working just about non-stop for the last few days trying to repair the damage and find a method of keeping the water out, but until they do, guard rotations have doubled and they’ve had to start a night shift again. 

It’s just about midnight as Mac walks through the light snow back home. Stockholm relieved him slightly early with some muttered words about Duncan and MacCready wasn’t going to argue with going home to where it's warm. As much as he dislikes the wet and cold that’s marked this last while, the snow falling in the moonlight is peaceful. As long as he doesn’t slip on the thin sheet of ice on the streets, of course. 

Inside, the warmth of the house hits him like a solid wall and he sighs a little in the pleasure of it. He slides his leather slicker off and hangs it, before starting on his boots. In the kitchen, Mac can hear Codsworth bustling around and when he gets his boots off he plants himself in front of the fire. He’s got a bit of a chill from the cold and the last couple of nights Codsworth has made instant cocoa to help warm him back up again. Where he found the stuff, Mac has no idea, but he’s not going to question the luxury. 

“Duncan give you any trouble?” he asks, keeping his voice relatively low. 

“Well, it took me a bit to a find a book to read, but then I found that Poirot one you took from my desk and he was happy to start that.”

MacCready swears his heart stops beating at the sound of Jack’s voice. The next moment he appears from the kitchen’s little door holding two mugs of cocoa. Jack hands over one of the mugs and Mac takes it with a sort of coughing breath as his heart starts again. It’s wonderfully warm against his cold hands.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Jeeves did all the work before he disappeared on a suspiciously timed errand.” Jack takes a seat on the chair nearest the stove while MacCready rotates his back to the fire to relieve the heat built up on his front. 

They spend a few moments just looking at one another. Jack with a sort of expectant look on his face and MacCready staring in shock. He had expected Jack to return at some point, right? He does have a bunch of things here to collect, so why does this feel like such a surprise? When no words are forth coming from MacCready’s end, Jack huffs and says with a sort of annoyed air,

“You moved all my books.”

Mac frowns, a flicker of anger lighting in him at Jack’s tone. “Technically, I flung them across the room and then Codsworth packed them away.”

Jack winces a little at the treatment of his books. “You didn’t ask.”

“It’s my damn house.”

“No one ever asks.” Jack doesn’t appear to have heard him. “Nick didn’t ask either. He didn’t ask if I wanted to move out, he just took it as a given that I didn’t want to be there if we couldn’t have what we had before, and packed everything up. I didn’t even know that my things were in Sanctuary until Ellie told me that’s where she sent them.” The look Jack gives him is somewhere between anguished and angry as he repeats, “You didn’t ask.”

“Forgive me for assuming that you didn’t want to have anythin’ to do with me after the way you reacted last time,” Mac says, sarcastic anger creeping into his tone. 

“Did you imagine that I might leap from a painful heartbreak into your bed?” Jack asks bitingly.

“No. Apparently, you only do that when you’re drunk,” Mac snarls.

“And who didn’t tell me to leave?”

“Like anyone can tell you anything, Jack. You just do what you fuckin’ want.”

“Says the perennially stubborn, R.J. MacCready. Pot meet kettle.” Jack stands and sets his cocoa down on the side table. “Nick didn’t ask if I wanted to move out because he was afraid I’d say no and he couldn’t handle the guilt of that.” He takes a couple steps toward MacCready. “You didn’t ask if I wanted my stuff packed and ready to move out because you were afraid I’d say yes, and you wanted to avoid that hurt by acting first.”

There’s something suddenly mesmerizing about the way Jack’s looking at him and he can’t help the truth that comes tumbling out of his mouth, “You already did.”

“I know and I’m sorry. _So sorry,_ but, see my previous comment.”

Mac frowns and looks away. “What’re you doin’ here, Jack? Tryin’ to save our previous friendship? Because if that’s the case you’re better off taking your things and only visiting every once and while. This—” he gestures weakly between them, “—hurts too much for more than that.”

“I’m here because you didn’t ask.”

Impatient anger flares in MacCready. “Would you get off the fuckin’ books already? Christ.”

Jack huffs in annoyance before he takes two long steps to Mac’s position and pulls him into a sudden kiss, all harsh and sharp to begin with and then softening as Mac presses back with a sort of excited and surprised wonderment. 

“You are so thick sometimes, I swear,” Jack tells him, the words whispered against his skin and suddenly Mac gets it. What Jack has been driving at all along in his round about method of speaking. 

“And you are incapable of sayin’ what you mean and it pisses me off to no end, but I don’t want you to go. Stay?”

“ _Yes._ ”

MacCready has to fumble a moment to get his mug wrangled into one hand so he can use the other to yank Jack down to kiss him again. Jack smiles against Mac’s mouth at his impatience and it’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned the fantastic [WRVR radio mod](https://bethesda.net/en/mods/fallout4/mod-detail/912595) by Casey Mongillo in a scene and I can’t recommend that mod enough. I love, _love_ it. So good.
> 
> Also, Jack sings a verse of _Up Around the Bend_ by CCR. In this AU version of our timeline, maybe Credence was only ever a small-time band and their music lives on in the oral tradition of communities that once had a working holotape. 
> 
> Lastly, I haven't forgotten/ignored the rest of the prompts. :D ([My Tumblr](https://katrinajg.tumblr.com))


End file.
